An Age Cannot Sate Love
by DancingDoula
Summary: We've seen the lengths Killian will go to for revenge. But how far will he go for love? Killian and Emma embark on a journey that will challenge them both physically and emotionally, and Killian will have to make a choice between what he's learned and taking that leap of faith only possible with true love. Time travel, fairies, curses, monsters. AU.
1. A Pirate for Hire

**I do not own OUAT, I'm only borrowing. Sigh!**

**Background: Set 3 years after Pan and Gold are destroyed in Neverland (not Storybrooke), leaving our favorite gang free to return to Storybrooke without ever facing Pan's curse. **

**This is a story set in the past, present and future, a convoluted history of sorts, and even though it begins in Storybrooke, this is not a story about our favorite sleepy town. There will be an adventurous quest, and of course true love will hang in the balance. AU**

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An Age Cannot Sate Love

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Chapter 1: A Pirate for Hire

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_Our universe unfailingly adheres to laws at work in and around us. Much speculation surrounds the origin of these natural forces, although there is little proof to support any one claim. It usually boils down to belief. And belief is strong indeed, creating or destroying our own cosmos at will. _

_A miracle is said to occur when something happens contrary to the laws of nature. _

_Redemption occurs when something unequivocally wrong is made right._

_This story is about miracles. And redemption._

====o0I0o====

Three days ago.

Emma casually walked down Main Street on her way to the station. She planned on stopping into Granny's for a coffee and a quick word with Red about the girls' night out planned for Friday.

Emma's life had finally settled into a comfortable routine. Henry was sixteen now, and he shared his time among his three parents' households, never missing a beat, and loving his bizarre family dynamics. Her parents had just had a little boy, her brother Leopold—Leo for short—who was so tiny and yet yelled with the lungs of an opera singer.

And she was married, in a union she never thought she'd find herself, the biggest wonder being that she was happy, really happy for the first time in her life. Everything worked and it worked well. She had married Killian Jones over a year and half ago in an outdoor wedding ceremony on the beach. He worked part time as deputy at the station, where she was still Sheriff, and part time running charters on the Jolly Roger for people looking for a day-sail or an overnight fishing trip. They kept busy, but always made time for each other.

A secret smile played across her lips as she thought about her handsome husband, how just that morning he had woken her with his unending supply of passion, his adoration for her never ceasing to surprise her. She never tired of allowing her mind to linger on her pirate, and so as she walked down Main Street, images of Killian Jones fitted together in Emma's mind like the pieces of a much-loved patchwork quilt.

Those were her last thoughts before Emma disappeared.

====o0I0o====

Three days. Emma had hiked for three lonely, rotten days through what looked like the Enchanted Forest, although she couldn't be sure, since every time she asked about Mulan or Aurora or Robin Hood or Prince Philip, racking her brain for the names of anyone she could remember from her last time there, all she got in return were blank stares.

Thank God she had a history of stealing. She had managed to pilfer a cloak from the back of a cart parked on the outskirts of a small village, covering herself with it immediately since her jeans, tank and red leather jacket stood out noticeably from the attire of those she came across. She had been wearing her boots the day she fell through, lucky that at least her footwear didn't attract attention underneath the hem of the brown garment.

After three days of hardly any food except a couple of apples and a pastry she'd been able to swipe when the vendors were looking the other way, and even less sleep, Emma was done. She missed her husband, his smell, his arms, his companionship, everything about him. She missed Henry, his animated exuberance about life in general and the way he never failed to make her smile. She missed her crazy family and her brother who screamed all the time. She missed showers and beds and hot chocolate and modern conveniences. She was tired, crabby, and had no idea where she was or how she was going to get home.

Sometime around early evening, she finally stumbled into the first actual town she had seen, her boots echoing on the cobblestones of the main square. _Must be a port town_ she thought, listening to the squawking of seagulls and scrunching her nose at the smell of rotten fish.

The raucous sounds of a bustling tavern rang through the square, and Emma sat down on a bench outside, waiting for someone, anyone to emerge. She didn't have to wait long.

A rough looking man with brown homespun clothing shuffled out the door of the busy pub, looking back over his shoulder at someone inside, waving his hand in farewell. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that he was drunk and probably heading home for the night.

Knowing this was her chance, Emma sidled up to the wasted man. "Hey there, fella, lookin' for a good time?" She encircled his waist with her arm.

"Huh? Whu…what?" He looked confused, then inhaled sharply when he saw her face, obviously surprised that she would be hitting on him.

Emma found what she was looking for, and patted him gently on the back. "Hey man, maybe next time."

"Oh, alright then." He looked dejected, but as though he had expected it from her, and Emma felt sorry for the pathetic man, watching as he turned around and continued shuffling away.

She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't wanted a fight, and that he had been carrying his coins in his pocket. Giving the coin purse a slight toss, she caught it and opened the door of the tavern, ready for a hot meal and a bed to lay her head. She'd look for a way home tomorrow.

The noise was deafening after three days of solitude, and Emma had to stop in the doorway for a moment to get her bearings. That's when it hit her, the overwhelming stench of unwashed bodies wrinkling her nose. She remembered it from the last time she'd been in the Enchanted Forest, and she had to breathe out of her mouth so she wouldn't lose what little she still had in her stomach.

She ambled over to the bar stretching along the right hand wall, shouldering her way between two large men with their backs to each other. The rest of the joint was filled with crowded tables. There was a fireplace on the wall now behind her, although no fire had been lit—so many bodies clustered together kept the place almost uncomfortably hot.

"Hey!" she shouted over the din, trying to get the attention of the bartender by waving her hand at him.

He either ignored her or didn't hear her. She tried again to no avail. Frustrated, she turned around and faced the tables, leaning back against the counter. That was when she noticed one of the patrons steadily making his way over to her, his eyes trained on hers, a smirk on his face that left nothing to the imagination about what his intentions were. Emma rolled her eyes in disgust.

As soon as he was at her side, he asked, "Can I hep ye wit somthin', lil' lady?" He leered at her, baring his yellow crooked teeth, while his eyes raked the front of her body through her open cloak.

"Yeah, get the attention of the bar-man," she said with a straight face. She moved out of his way, allowing him access to the small piece of real estate she had carved out of the press of men.

He put his fingers between his teeth and whistled very loudly. Everyone in the near vicinity turned at the sound, all eyes alighting on her since she was one of very few women in an establishment filled with drunken men. She groaned in aggravation, sinking her shoulders and rolling her eyes again, averting her face to stare at some unidentified spill on the floor until everyone had lost interest.

The bartender came over and the man stepped back, allowing Emma her place back at the counter. "Thanks," she said over her shoulder.

"What can I do you for?" The bartender asked with a smile.

"I need a bowl of stew, a tankard of ale, and a bed for the night," she said tiredly.

He nodded once and left to get her food and drink.

Relieved, Emma stood for a minute, allowing her mind to clear, the cacophonous sounds drowning out all thought. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the man who had helped her.

"So, don' I git some kind of a thank ye?" He stared at her mouth, his unwashed body stinking with his proximity.

"Yeah, I thought I already gave it." She waited for him to make his move.

"Well tha' don' seem like enuv thanks to me." His grip started to turn a little painful, and she seriously wondered if they were going to do this here, with people all around.

"Seriously, dude, take your hand off me." She picked up his wrist and threw it off her shoulder, turning back around to wait for her food.

He returned his hand to the same spot, leaned forward and whispered low in her ear, "Come now, tha's no way to treat a gen'leman."

He was persistent, she'd give him that. "Gentleman my ass." And with that, Emma hooked her ankle around the back of his knee, waiting as his body fell forward into hers. She bucked her head backward and caught him right in the nose, satisfied when she heard the crunch.

"You wench!" he shouted.

She whirled around fast, hand up to deflect the punch that was aimed at her face. She stopped his momentum with a well-aimed kick to his knee, causing him to buckle in pain. Balancing on his other leg, he made to punch her again, this time in her stomach, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder, roughly pulling him away from her and tossing him to the ground, as the blood poured from his broken nose. The man scrabbled up and moved away as fast as his body would allow.

"Bad form to strike a lady."

Emma had been watching her attacker's hasty retreat, panting from the effort and the adrenaline. Her breath caught at the sound of his voice and Emma looked up wide-eyed into the face of Killian Jones.

"Oh, thank God!" She launched herself into his arms, hugging his neck tightly. "You came through too? Where are we?" She spoke quickly, her earlier anxiety and fatigue melting into relief.

.

.

Moments before, Killian had looked up from his rum to see a man he knew as Travis, a deckhand from one of the ships in port, pushing himself on the pretty blond Killian had been regarding since she'd come in the door all alone and with an obvious attitude. Travis was a brave man to chance a meeting with her. When he saw her throw Travis's hand from her shoulder, he knew he'd been right; she could take of herself. But when he had seen Travis's fist raise in retaliation, Killian had made his way over to the pair as quickly as possible. He didn't tolerate violence toward women.

He had easily thrust the lunging man to the floor, but he hadn't been prepared for her leap of faith into his arms, her soft body molding into his as her hands gripped the back of his collar and her face burrowed into the crook of his neck. Her hair smelled like leaves and twigs with an undercurrent of lavender, and he found himself responding to her embrace by comfortably linking his hands behind her back and resting his chin against her head, liking the way she felt in his arms.

She hugged him for a long minute, breathing him in as her pulse calmed.

Clearing his throat, he asked gently, "Do I know you, lass? Not that I'm complaining, mind you." He pulled back from her, curious about her identity, but surprisingly reluctant to break the embrace, the intimacy of her touch warming him more than his rum had.

She looked up into his tender blue eyes, swatting at his leather jacket. "Always teasing, pirate. Just hold me for a minute okay?"

He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he did.

.

.

Her soup arrived a minute later and she moved out of his arms as soon as she heard the bowl scrape the wood behind her. "I haven't eaten in three days. I'm starved. Have you had anything? Because I have some money if you need something."

He shook his head and she ate her stew quickly, taking a deep breath when she was done, not even caring that the broth was bland and the meat tasted almost rancid. When she twisted back around to face him, he was still standing in the same position as before, just staring at her and rubbing the back of his neck.

She smiled at him and that's when she noticed he was wearing his pirate outfit, which he only brought out now if they were role-playing, instead of his usual jeans and t-shirt. She tilted her head and asked, "Killian, why are you dressed like that?" unable to keep a small a measure of dread from her voice.

"Aye, lass, that's my name. Would you be so kind as to tell me yours?" A slight smirk lifted the corners of his mouth.

Her clear gaze met his blue one, trying to work out if he had lost his memories when he fell through the portal, when she noticed his face had fewer lines in it and no scar. She tilted her head upward, studying him. His hair was longer than he had taken to wearing it lately too. She gasped; apparently she was staring at a younger version of her husband. "Crap!"

.

.

"That's no name for a lass such as yourself," he grinned teasingly, greatly enjoying the myriad of emotions that crossed her face just then. He stroked his chin with his left hand, allowing his eyes to rake her form, lingering on her chest for a moment too long before meeting her steady gaze with a full-blown smirk.

Her eyes dropped to his hand, her mouth gaping slightly. Gathering it in hers, she turned it back and forth, inspecting his palm and scraping her fingers across his own like some sort of fortune-teller. She picked up his right hand and then compared the two of them. After she was satisfied, she gazed up at him sheepishly, as if suddenly aware of how peculiar she must look.

He couldn't help staring at her in disbelief. She was mad. A stunning lass, but a mad one nonetheless. Relapsing into his usual cocky attitude, he said, "See something you like?" and pulled his hands from hers, wishing he could take her to a quiet place, just the two of them, where he would literally charm the pants off her, mad or no.

He watched as she pulled herself together, the wheels turning in her lovely head. She ignored his comment and offered her right hand forthrightly. "Swan. Emma Swan."

He shook her hand in greeting. "Well, Swan. Emma Swan, it's been lovely meeting you. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He made to step away from her, knowing full well she wasn't going to let him go. He had used that move on the ladies so many times it hurt. If they thought he was walking away, they would suddenly become very willing to keep him there. He wasn't disappointed.

He felt her hand grip his arm. "Wait. Don't go. I need your help."

"Do you now?" he simpered, turning back around to meet her gaze, wondering what excuse she would have for detaining him.

"Yes. I'm from a different realm, and I need help getting back."

He knew she wasn't from around there, her clothing told him that much, but a different realm altogether? He hid his surprise at her response behind sarcasm, "Oh, is that all? Just a spot of realm jumping, eh?"

"Come on, Killian, I know you have a soft spot for damsels in distress. 'Good form' and all that." She smiled coyly, batting her eyelashes and tossing her hair over her shoulder in a phony invitation.

She was mocking him! Twice in the past five minutes she had managed to confound Killian Jones, and not much puzzled him about women anymore.

His eyes narrowed and his tone was sharper than he would have liked. "You hardly strike me as a damsel in distress, love. But you do realize that I'm a pirate. I don't answer to anyone except myself, and realm jumping is quite complicated, especially this time of year." He waved his hands around wide, mocking her in return.

Her face reddened in frustration. "God, why do you always have to make everything so difficult? Can't you just say, 'Aye, I'd be happy to help you, love.'?"

He chuckled at her vocal impression of him and said, "Well, Emma Swan, since you seem to know me so _intimately_, you must also realize that I only hire out for a price." He stepped closer to her, hoping to unsettle her a bit with his oppressive proximity.

Surprise followed by marked aggravation marched across her delicate features in tandem, and he smirked in response, impressed by her apparent gall at thinking she could persuade him with just her pretty face.

"I… I don't have anything I can offer you," she spoke incredulously and with a hint of defiance, her chin jutting out, challenging him to come up with something she would consider reasonable.

"That's not true." He raised an eyebrow and her lips formed a tight line; she wouldn't give him what his seductive expression suggested. He chuckled, enjoying her discomfort and picked up her left hand, looking at the thick gold band, a large emerald surrounded by diamonds resting comfortably on her finger.

"What? No, you can't have my wedding ring!" She snatched her hand back.

"Married, are you? Isn't that interesting. Would have never guessed with the way you were _clinging_ to me only moments ago." The smirk never left his face and he realized he was back in control as he watched her face dissolve into fatigue.

Her tone however, still held some annoyance. "I so remember doing this with you, and I'm really not in the mood for all the games. So let's just cut to the chase. Will you help me or not?" The dark circles under her puffy eyes stood out in stark relief to her alabaster skin, catching the light as she turned away from him slightly to look about the room as she waited for his answer.

Determining that he was up for a little adventure, and intrigued by the gorgeous woman asserting so much fortitude even when she was obviously exhausted, he decided to humor her. "For the price of the bauble on your finger, I will help you, m'lady." He bowed to her, "Killian Jones at your service."

She waved her hands to get him to straighten his posture. "Finally." Her shoulders relaxed in consolation, having gained a sought after respite from the banter. "So, what do we do first?" She looked confused, a questioning frown settling on her face.

"First, you come and have a drink with me. Then, well, who knows?" He licked his lips indecently, and she grimaced like she wanted to punch the smirk off his face, although she was unable to keep a glint of humor from her eyes.

Killian Jones led her to his table, his steady hand on her back a clear indication to all in the tavern that he had claimed this lass for his own.

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**My beta is very, very busy, so I'm publishing without her expert advice. I've toggled between Killian's and Emma's POV, let me know if it makes sense that way, or if I should change it. As always, reviews are appreciated!**


	2. A Conversation Over Breakfast

**Wow, guys! Thanks for all the follows and reviews. Much loves to you all!**

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An Age Cannot Sate Love

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Chapter 2: A Conversation Over Breakfast

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Emma stretched lazily, slowly opening her eyes to the quiet morning with a yawn. The dust motes danced in the rays of sunshine like ballerinas in the air, flitting from place to place following their own delicate choreography. She had fallen asleep the evening before almost as soon as her body had hit the straw-stuffed cot, only managing to pull off her boots and drag the ragged blanket up to her shoulders before she passed out, the din of the bar below having faded into nothingness in a matter of moments.

She yawned again, long and deep, amazed what a full night of sleep could do, and allowed her thoughts to shift to Killian. She had never expected to meet an earlier version of her husband, to have the chance to observe what he was like before he had been betrayed and spent three hundred years chasing revenge. He seemed carefree, lighter perhaps. He had fewer worry lines between his brows and his eyes didn't conceal so much pain like they had when she'd first met him. He looked good, happy instead of conflicted. In fact, his expression resembled her husband's for the past year or so. She smiled, pleased that she could bring that kind of joy into his life, even if it had taken three hundred years for him to find it. She ran her hands down her body, the same way he woke her most mornings, closing her eyes and imagining his own hands on her, longing for his touch. She couldn't wait to get back home to him, picturing how worried he must be; she wished she could send him a message that she was alright.

Her ruminations were suddenly interrupted by a stray thought flashing through her brain, grabbing her attention insistently like an alarm that refuses to turn off. _What if your being here alters history?_

Emma stilled completely, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as she considered this new possibility. It honestly hadn't crossed her mind that history might change, therefore affecting her life, her satisfied, easy life that she'd wanted for so long it hurt without even realizing it. She had finally found contentment, safety, the freedom to be and to feel without restraint or worry that she was going to be alone again. She now had what she'd always been afraid to allow in her life. She had love, true love with the one person who knew her better than she knew herself. She couldn't conceive of a life without him now. She wouldn't.

And what about him? What if they never married? or worse yet, never met? How would that change his destiny? His revenge had finally released its hold on him, allowing him to find the happiness he so deserved—what would happen if that changed?

Emma's mind began spinning around and around as she tried to work the kink out of her present situation. She had hired him to help her get back home, which meant they'd be spending a lot of time together. How could she know what to tell him and what not to? How could she know what was off limits and what was okay? How could she maintain her distance from the one man she loved with everything she had in her heart, her mind, and her soul?

_What about Milah?_ Emma's stomach twisted in rebellion as she thought about Killian's first love. Killian had either already met her or hadn't yet, and he needed Milah as the catalyst to his revenge that would eventually bring him into contact with Emma. It was excruciating to picture him now, so lighthearted and easy, and to imagine the grim man he would become after he lost his hand and his heart, to know that she would have to gently encourage him down that dark path if he was ever to become hers.

Calming her anxious mind with a few deep breaths, Emma made a decision. She couldn't chance losing the happy ending they'd finally found, for both their sakes. She'd just have to carefully promote his relationship with the other woman, and try not to focus on how difficult that might prove to be.

She stretched again, the shaking in her limbs abating somewhat now that her mind was made up, as a loud rumbling in her stomach interrupted the quiet. She was hungry.

Sitting on the edge of the cot, she donned her boots and folded her cloak over her arm before leaving the room, greeted by the smell of fresh baked bread. Following her nose, Emma made her way downstairs with the intent of ordering breakfast before going to find Killian.

She was halfway to the counter of the near empty room when a man abruptly stood from a nearby table, turning to block her path and moving as though to press himself up against her body. Jumping back in revulsion, she put her hands up in front of her to push him away. The nasty man with yellow teeth from the night before sneered back at her, a single bandage wrapped around his head and covering his nose, the purple bruises peeking out from beneath the white cloth and radiating toward his eyes.

"Jes where do you think ye're goin', lil' lady?" He raised his chin, pushing out his chest against her palms in challenge.

Emma glanced around him to see that his two companions now had their eyes trained on her, ready to make a move if necessary. Crap. She was about to be jumped, and before breakfast for heaven's sake, which made her really angry after being half starved for three days.

She intended to give them one hell of a fight.

Dropping her cloak on another table, she said wearily, "To breakfast. Now, if you'll kindly let me pass." She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath to steady herself as she waited for him to make his move, all her muscles tense and ready for the attack.

"I don' think so. Ye're comin' with me." He pulled a small blade from the back of his belt, holding it upright and brandishing it back and forth in the light trying to scare her.

_Knife_. Recalling her self defense classes from when she was a bounty hunter, she knew that she should ignore the knife and watch the man's chest and eyes to see when and where he planned to move. Just like she expected, his eyes told her exactly what he was going to do.

He was going to grab her arm and twist her around so he could hold the knife to her neck and force her out the door. _Mistake_. Before he could clasp her arm, she quickly spread her arms out wide, skirting his own in the process, and hooked them around his neck, pulling his head down in one fluid motion onto her upraised knee, slamming his face into her bent leg. He shouted in agony as his nose came in contact with her hard muscle, the knife clattering to the floor.

She turned to run for the door, stopping short when his two companions blocked her path, which would give her attacker time to recover and approach her from behind. Now she would be surrounded. _Perfect_, she frowned.

She glanced around for a possible weapon, noticing a sturdy chair within arm's reach. Smiling seductively, she winked at the two oafish men in front of her and cocked a hand on her hip, causing them to shuffle back and forth on their feet in discomfort, obviously not relishing a scrape with the woman. She now knew that her attacker was the ring-leader of this unwilling bunch. Good fortune favored her.

She heard a table scrape out of the leader's way as he approached her back. "Tsk, tsk, lil' lady. Ye're gonna regrit ever messin' wit' me." His nasally voice sounded furious, but marked his position behind her.

Emma kept her body facing the two large men, quietly mumbling, "Is that so?"

Grabbing the chair to her left and grunting a little under the weight of it, she swung it hard at the men in front of her, who had plenty of time to move back out of the way. But the man behind her didn't anticipate that she was actually aiming for him, the side of the chair hitting him broadside in the jaw as she swung completely around, knocking him out as his head bounced off a table. He collapsed to the floor without so much as a sound.

Emma dropped the chair, panting from the effort and staring down the two men in front of her while trying to decide her next move. The two men looked at their fallen comrade and at each other, as if confused without the other man to give them orders.

.

.

That was the scene Killian Jones walked into when he swept the door wide in his haste to find Emma Swan and continue the conversation he had started the night before, but for which she had been too tired to maintain.

His entire body filled the opening, taking in the scene in seconds, noting Emma standing defiantly—_tough lass_, he thought—Travis out cold, and his two mates unsure what to do. He whisked his body in their direction, his mouth settling into a hard line, eyes icy and distant, very much the stern Captain who commanded respect evident in every stride. Emma slumped in relief.

Killian placed his hands on the shoulders of the two men, squeezing tightly and causing them to wince in reaction. He gestured toward the fallen man with his head and pushed the other two in his direction. "Take him and get out. And if I see Travis bothering Miss Swan again, he'll have to answer to me."

Emma stifled a chuckle as their faces went from cautious to horror-filled, obviously imagining all sorts of diabolical things if left at the mercy of Jones. They nearly stumbled, quickly bending to pick up their fallen comrade, one at his head and one at his feet as they carried him out the door, careful to keep their eyes down as they passed the angry pirate Captain.

Once they were gone, Killian turned to Emma, a wide grin erasing all former traces of the fierce seaman. He took in her disheveled hair and heaving chest, watching as she visibly calmed down now that the threat was gone, leaving her with a small but nervous smile. He wondered what she was thinking and walked toward her. "Ah, so she lives."

.

.

It was true that she hadn't been much company the night before. She had literally swallowed the rest of her ale and nearly fallen over from fatigue. When Killian had seen her stagger, he had helped her to her room and left her to sleep it off.

She watched as he made his leather-clad way over to her, her breath catching at his lively smile so like her husband's first thing in the morning that she couldn't help but smile widely in return, her heart picking up tempo for the second time that morning, now because of his presence. "Good morning… Jones."

"So we're using surnames then, is that it?" Disappointment flashed through his eyes for just a second before he replaced it with indifference.

"Yeah, I prefer to keep things professional." _Mainly for my own peace of mind_. "I was just about to order breakfast, do you want anything?"

"No thank you, lass, I've already eaten." He put his hand out to indicate that he'd wait for her while she procured something to eat.

She nodded and walked back to the kitchen to find the owner of the tavern.

A few minutes later, a small loaf of bread and a cup of milk in hand, she joined Killian at the table where he sat quite comfortably slouched, mischief dancing in his clear blue gaze as he followed her every move.

"Well then, Swan, I can wait no longer. Exactly what realm are you from?" he asked with interest, and she sat down across from him, sipping her milk.

She looked up at him from over the rim of her mug, savoring the thick creamy liquid that nearly satisfied her hunger all on its own, although she would have given anything for some chocolate to put in it. "I'm from the land without magic," she said cautiously.

He leaned his forearm across the table and spoke matter of factly. "Haven't heard of that one. But I'm sure it works the same as the rest. We need to find a bean and then we can open a portal and send you back through."

She inhaled deeply, and began speaking quietly. "I'm afraid it may not be as easy as all that." She took another sip of her milk, regretting what she had to tell him in case he decided not to help her after all. At his questioning eyes she continued, "I'm from your future. And I need to get back there."

He took a deep breath, studying her before leaning his chair back and lacing his hands on the back of his head, his eyes moving to the ceiling. "How far into the future?"

She paused a second, apprehensive. Still keeping her voice down, she said, "Approximately three hundred years… give or take."

He sputtered, chair scraping the floor noisily as he bolted upright. "Three hundred years!"

She flinched and stared down at her bread, breaking it into tiny pieces as she tried to work out an alternative course of action if he walked away. She could think of nothing, and prayed he would help her. She could only imagine what it was like for him to meet someone who already knew him—he must be taken more than a little off guard, and she knew from experience that he usually shrouded himself in sass and sarcasm when he felt uneasy. He surprised her.

"That could prove to be a mite more difficult than just finding a bean and opening a portal. As far as I know, portals open space, not time." She could see him thinking, trying to come up with an idea or a possible solution.

"Leave it to me to find the most difficult way of doing something," she said sarcastically, offering him a piece of her broken bread. "Will you still help me?"

.

.

Killian gazed into her beautiful pleading eyes and couldn't find it in himself to tell her no. She actually believed he was her only hope. She trusted him, plain as day in her reticent gaze, had placed all her confidence in him, only him, leaving him feeling conflicted. Pride mingled with a bit of fear surged through him, the weight of her trust situating almost uncomfortably in his gut. Yet the chance for a hero's journey was being presented to him by an intriguing woman who was tougher than most men he knew. Her unwavering faith was a burden, but it also made him feel noble again—serving a purpose greater than himself, like he had under Liam's command. And although her safety would be completely in his hands, he was Killian Jones, a man of his word, and he would help her for as long as he was able.

He spoke softly, accepting the token fare. "Aye, lass. I'll assist you." He popped the bread into his mouth and put his hands back behind his head again, holding his shining blue eyes on her.

.

.

She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and relaxed her shoulders, relief flooding her features as she finished off the last few pieces of her meal. "Thank God," she whispered. Then looking up at him she asked, "So what now?"

"Well, I'm going to pack my things and leave my ship in the capable hands of Mr. Smee. Then you and I are going to take a little trip."

"Where to?" She tilted her head, curious.

"To those who have answers. The fairies," he said playfully, as though he was looking forward to working with her.

"The fairies? I thought you just had to wish upon a star and they would come." She wondered briefly if Blue was alive in this time.

"Not quite," he chuckled, "I only wish it were that easy. The fairies are ruled by the White Fairy, a proud and mean-spirited little sprite who keeps interactions with humans to a minimum."

"Is there no one else?" The fairies in this time sounded like trouble, and trouble was the last thing Emma needed. All she wanted was a quick trip that would send her back home so she wouldn't have to be torn in two, mesmerized by Killian's—no, Jones's—laughing blue eyes and easy manner that made her want to jump into his arms to assuage the ache in her heart for her husband.

"Not unless you want to work with the Dark One?" he inquired interestedly.

His question brought her up short. _Has he already met the man who would be his downfall? _"Rumplestiltskin?"

He narrowed his eyes in her direction, removing his hands from the back of his head and sitting up straighter, hands resting on his knees as he leaned forward. "How do you know that name?"

"In my time he was the Dark One." Emma stared off in the distance, thinking about the last time she had seen Rumple, when he had destroyed himself along with Peter Pan in a final act of surprising selflessness. "Wait, do you know Milah?" She grasped her hands together to keep them from shaking as she waited for his answer.

"So the coward finally finds the courage to defeat someone? That's interesting." He stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Yes, I know Milah; how to do you know her?" he asked off-hand.

Emma didn't answer, pretending she hadn't heard the question, sipping from her cup instead. Killian's brows furrowed together as he searched her face. "How do you know me, Swan?"

She kept her voice down, as though whispering would keep her from altering their past. "You and I were… are… friends."

He raised a brow and turned up one corner of his mouth at the way she said 'friends' as though he caught on that she wasn't sure what they were. "Friends, eh?" He seemed amused.

"Yeah, friends. Anyway, I need to get back to my family. I miss my husband and my son." She was afraid to tell him much more—worried that too much information could change everything she'd fought so hard to gain.

"Pray tell how it is that I'm even alive in your time?" He was watching her closely, too closely.

"You did a stint in Neverland." She raised her voice at the end of the sentence, as though it was a question, searching his face for signs of backing out.

"Neverland?" Killian stared at her, raising one brow in question.

"Where no one grows old," she supplied.

"Aye, I know the place. My brother and I traveled there some time ago."

"Liam? How long ago?" she asked respectfully. She wanted to know how old he was, wanted to know where he was in his history. When she asked him questions like that back home, he never could quite remember, too much time having passed.

He tilted his head to the side, his blue eyes wary. "It happened six years ago," he said quietly, a pang of sorrow passing over his face at the mention of his brother.

She nodded. That made him twenty-four. He was so young! No wonder he had fewer lines around his eyes and mouth. _I bet he has fewer scars too,_ she thought absently, unable to keep her eyes from lingering at the open neck of his white shirt.

.

.

He saw her eyes drop to his chest and snickered. Good. She wasn't completely unaffected by him. She had been playing it cool ever since she realized he wasn't exactly who she thought he was, and Killian Jones was accustomed to women falling all over their feet for his attentions. _But not her_, he thought, piquing his interest in the riveting lass.

"Well then, Swan, shall we?" He stood, chair scraping the stone floor, and offered her his outstretched hand. She smiled tentatively and took it. Her skin was soft, definitely not like the hands of a coarse work-woman or tavern wench. He shivered at her touch, hiding it behind a slight bow of his head.

What was he going to do with this beautiful lass who'd come to him for help, who knew about his past and future? He'd never had anyone blindly trust him as she was now, not even his crew, and they knew he'd die to protect them, pirate or no. He believed in good form and a code of honor and to date had kept his reputation flawless. Wherever their path took them, he would not let the lass down.

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	3. A Forest Hike

**Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows and favs! You guys are great. There's a shout out to a Fringe episode in here-I don't own that either, only borrowing a great idea. Cheers!**

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Chapter 3: A Forest Hike

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Killian and Emma had been walking for what seemed like forever through the dappled shade of the forest, at first following a well-worn path. At some point, they turned away from the main avenue, taking a side aisle that led into the sweltering sun along a tree-line with an open field off to their right. Emma wasn't fully recovered from her first three day trek, and frankly she was beginning to wonder if she had gone soft since her last major hike through Neverland about three years previous. Killian, however, seemed to be enjoying himself as they marched on the edge of the trees, attempting light conversation whenever he found something interesting to point out, not seeming to care that Emma was cranky and mostly non-responsive.

He stayed in front of her, leading the way with a satchel slung across one shoulder filled with what she assumed were supplies. She caught herself staring at his backside on more than one occasion, only to tear her eyes away, the sight of his happy strut wrenching at her heart and making her miss home even more if that was possible. He carried a stick in his right hand, having picked it up in the forest for swatting at low hanging branches, that he now used as a walking stick, since the tree-line they were following had very few bushes poking out beyond it, and the ones that did could easily be skirted.

He had finally relinquished his leather jacket when the sun hit its zenith. Emma had tied hers around her waist ages ago, sweat making rivulets in the dust that covered her body. _What she wouldn't give for a wash_. After awhile, the sound of their feet swishing through the short grasses soothed Emma's tired mind, the regular tempo lulling her into a trance, until he spoke.

"Well, lass, as we'll be on the trail for quite awhile yet, and you already seem to know so much about me, why don't you tell me a little about yourself." He spoke with ease—a genuine attempt to draw her into a conversation.

She paused, guarded and unsure, her tone clipped. "Look, I'm not here for a chat. I just want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

He twisted his head around, crystal blue eyes carefully studying her face before taking on a teasing note. "Are you always so short-tempered?"

She shrugged and answered honestly. "Sometimes."

He stopped walking, allowing her to catch up with him, stopping her forward motion with a hand on her shoulder since she was intent on passing him by. "Look, Swan, I know you trust me with your life." He gave her the _open book_ look she'd seen so many times her stomach did a flip-flop with how much it reminded her of _him._ "Do you not trust me any further?" His earnest expression softened her demeanor, making her feel more than a little guilty at having been short with him.

"It's not that." She looked away from his intense gaze carefully probing her for an explanation.

"Then what is it?" he asked gently.

How was she supposed to tell him that the burden of history rested on her shoulders? That she loved him with everything she had inside of her? That she was dying as she watched him walk in front of her, his swagger making her want to leap on him from behind and let him hold her, comfort her, reassure her that he'd get her back to her son? This Killian Jones was so different from the Captain Hook she'd first met. He had been a liar and a cheat, using anyone he could to get his precious revenge. But over time that had changed, Killian Jones had emerged like a phoenix from the ashes, his black heart altering, until it began to beat in time with hers, until their rhythms were indistinguishable. The man standing before her was Killian Jones, and Captain Hook was nowhere in sight.

She knew from experience that her path would be infinitely easier if he were Hook.

She settled for part of the truth. "Listen, Jones. I'm from the future, where you live too. I don't know what to tell you that might not rearrange… things. As it is, my being here could completely change your future and possibly mine too."

"Would that be so bad?" He tucked a lock of hair over her shoulder and an unreadable emotion quickly passed across his face before he allowed a small grin to tease the corners of his mouth. She knew that look, that flirting, stay-with-me-tonight-lass look. He was going to be the death of her.

She blushed, the weight of his left hand still pressing into her shoulder, the physical contact and his closeness flustering her. "Of course!" she snapped, "I happen to like the life I'm trying to get home to."

He let go of her and rubbed the back of his neck. "I see. Well then, tell me something innocuous, something that wouldn't affect actions. Like, what's your favorite color?"

She smiled, looking down at her feet, and they both continued walking side by side. "Red."

"And mine is…"

"Black." She cut him off, assurance and finality in her tone.

"No, you brazen lass, I was going to say blue—the color of the ocean specifically. Perhaps you don't know as much about me as you seem to think." He tapped her head with his finger, somewhat condescendingly although playfully.

She raised her brows at him in surprise, trying to detect a lie. He wasn't lying. That was new. In her time his favorite color was definitely black; he'd told her so on numerous occasions.

"Next. Tell me about your childhood." They came to a break in the tree-line, a path clearly visible through the tall hardwoods. He guided them back into the forest, still walking by her side, the path occasionally narrowing enough that their arms casually brushed each other.

"That's getting a little deep, don't you think?" She tried to ignore the shiver that passed through her every time she felt his warm skin underneath the linen of his shirt with the sweep of his arm next to hers.

"Why? I'm merely trying to make conversation, and I don't see how my knowing about your childhood could possibly affect future actions." He stepped over a fallen log, stretching out his hand to her.

She waved the proffered hand away, not trusting herself to let go if she took it, and considered that maybe he had a point there. "It's a long story, and not a very pleasant one."

"We have some time. And I'm all ears to find out how it is that you're such a _tough lass_." He winked at her, glancing briefly at her well-muscled arms to make his point.

She rolled her eyes at him. She knew he was genuinely interested—he always had been—and knowing she could trust him made her more willing to share. So to make the time pass more quickly and the trek a little easier to bear, Emma told him a little about her past.

She started her story at the beginning, with being found on the side of the road and then placed in the foster care system.

"Foster care?" He held back a low hanging branch as she passed him by so it wouldn't strike her in the face.

"Thank you. Where you essentially belong to the state… the government… that in turn pays a family to take you in instead of staying in an orphanage. I lived with several different foster families and in between, the orphanage."

"So you moved around frequently?" He was straight forward, no pity detectable in his tone, which gave her a small measure of relief.

"You could say that. I never had the opportunity to put down roots because I never stayed in any one place longer than a couple of years. It was hard, but I did learn to be self-sufficient." she said with a half-smile.

He was quiet for a minute, considering.

"Now you," she said. "Tell me something about growing up with Liam."

"Fair enough, lass." He smiled and nodded. "Liam was ten years older than I, so sometimes he was more like a father than a big brother. My own father left when I was a child." She nodded; she knew that much.

"Liam was already in the Royal Navy by then, so I was taken in by an elderly neighbor who raised me. Her name was Mrs. Fritz, a widow who had no children of her own. Liam came to check on me every so often to make sure I wasn't driving the poor old woman mad, which of course I was." He smiled in remembrance, an eyebrow cocking up in amusement.

"What's so funny?" she asked interestedly.

"Ah, well, it's just that on one such visit, Liam walked into the main room of the house to find me bent over Mrs. Fritz's knee, grunting in pain while she gave me a thrashing I wasn't likely to forget. Liam walked in wide-eyed, but when he caught Mrs. Fritz's eye, he clamped his lips together and stalked out. He told me later that he'd nearly burst out laughing—Mrs. Fritz a sore sight, struggling to keep my squirming body on what was left of her lap, hair poking out at all kinds of crazy angles, face red and pulsing with rage. He said he figured whatever I had done must have deserved the punishment."

"What had you done?" Emma had never heard this story before and was all ears.

"Stoned her chickens." He shrugged, as if that were perfectly understandable behavior.

"What possessed you?" Emma asked incredulously, although not surprised that her pirate had been a very mischievous boy.

"I had bought a new slingshot with hard earned coins, you see, and had to test it," he said matter of factly.

She chuckled. "Yes, you did deserve it."

"Aye, I did… but it was worth the beating." He nudged her arm and waggled his brows when she turned her face to his.

Emma laughed earnestly then, losing herself in his easy conversation. She suddenly stopped, catching herself, remembering that she couldn't indulge in this luxury of companionship with him or she'd lose her heart all over again.

He turned toward her as they walked, watching her carefully with a questioning gaze. She wouldn't give in to those beautiful blue eyes asking her what was wrong. She brushed past him on the path, flustered once again, trying to make out just how she was going to resist his ample charm.

.

Killian didn't know what had just happened. He sensed the change in her even before she had abruptly stopped laughing. She looked confused, agitated and almost angry. He hoped he hadn't said anything that might have offended her, but thinking over his comments, he couldn't imagine what it would have been. Frowning as she brushed past him, he let her lead for awhile, quietly correcting her course as necessary, wondering about her, but respectful enough not to ask what had her so prickly.

Sometime around early afternoon, they encountered a clearing near a small stream. As soon as she saw the water, Emma ran toward it, removing her boots hastily. Killian smiled as she hopped on one foot, pulling off her sock and nearly stumbling onto the mossy bank.

"Ahhhh. That feels so good." She stood ankle deep in the water, holding her trousers up with her fists, as the clear water washed over her feet.

Killian sat down, keeping one knee up and leaning on it as he pulled a piece of hardtack from the satchel he'd grabbed from his ship. He grinned at the ecstasy on her face, her sigh of pleasure making his insides do little flip-flops.

"I could give you a rub-down if you like, lass," he smirked, patting the ground next to him in invitation.

"You wish. I'm not in that much pain, pirate," she shot back.

"Pity. Well, perhaps after we've made it past the fairies' _deterrents_." He wasn't looking forward to the next few hours. He had stopped in the clearing to give Emma a break and regain a little of her strength before they traveled on. She'd need the rest.

Emma groaned, "I really don't like how that sounds. What deterrents?" She stepped back into the soft moss, slightly bouncing her toes on the springy substance. She sat down next to Killian and he handed her a piece of the hard biscuit.

"I'm not sure. I just know there are three outer rings of defense before anyone can get into the fairy conclave. Very few people chance it, so there's not much information available." He averted his eyes from her long legs, resisting the urge to reach out and run his hand down one of them.

"Is there no other way?" She bit into the biscuit, and he could tell she was hungry by the way she chewed so quickly.

"Not that I know of. The fairies are the keepers of magic, the Dark One too, although you said you preferred to avoid him, so I figure if anyone knows how to open a time portal, they will."

"I meant is there no other way to get around the defenses?" she asked with apprehension.

"Oh, right. The White Fairy doesn't converse with humans unless they make it through her defenses, figuring if they won't make the effort, then what they need can't possibly be worthy of her consideration." He rifled through the bag for a couple of pieces of dried meat before handing one to Emma.

When their meal was finished, they both lay down on the soft earth, and Killian stared up at the bright sky through the leaves in the trees. The tension in his muscles slowly ebbed, and he allowed the soft sounds of the forest to clear his mind.

A gentle snore broke through the quiet, and Killian rolled himself to his side to watch the striking lass lying comfortably beside him. His breath caught at the sight of her long-limbed physique, the sunlight giving her the look of being lit from within. She had to be one of the most beautiful women he'd ever encountered, her lovely skin beckoning for his touch, the slight crinkle between her brows begging for a kiss to smooth them. He swallowed thickly, intrigued by the way she brought out the playful and protective side of him. He was much more accustomed to the adaptable ladies of the night, although he didn't often avail himself of them, or women like the saucy Milah, hardworking farm women who found themselves in the taverns at night to escape their lonely lives for a bit of fun.

No, there was something different about Emma Swan, although he'd be damned if he knew what it was. _Quite literally_, he thought, given his strong reaction to the lass.

A cursory glance at the position of the sun told him it was time to go, although he loathed to disturb her rest. Running his hand lightly across her arm, indulging his desire to caress the soft skin before she woke up, he gently shook her awake.

Her mouth formed a tight line and she snapped, "Come on, can't I just a rest for a little bit?"

"You've been asleep for an hour, lass. We need to get back on the path so we make it through the defenses before nightfall." He spoke with a tender smile, letting her know that he didn't take her sharp tone personally.

Emma sat up, rubbing her feet before putting her socks and boots back on. "Thanks," she said begrudgingly.

"What for?" He stood over her and draped his bag across his shoulder, offering her a hand up.

She took it and rose up quickly. "For letting me rest. I guess I'm still tired from the last few days."

A surge of compassion washed through him, and he brushed his hand across her cheek, his emotions almost raw, perhaps from having watched her in her sleep for too long. "Once we get there, you should be able to acquire the rest you seek."

He saw her fight the urge to lean into his hand before abruptly turning her cheek away. "Okay then, let's move on," she said soberly, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her waist so it wouldn't slip off.

"After you, milady." He bowed his head slightly and put his arm out, hiding his disappointment at her rejection of his touch.

.

The path was easy enough to follow, although as they traveled closer to their destination, the sun faded into gray and the wind began to pick up. It couldn't have been more than an hour from their last stop. "Is there a storm approaching?" Emma asked. She knew he always seemed to sense the weather before it made a presentation.

He looked up into the sky. "There shouldn't be. But I don't think this is a storm brought on by natural causes." His face looked concerned, and he kept glancing between the sky and the path ahead, as if trying to figure out if this was one of the three tests. He moved to her side, his warm hand grasping hers. "I hope you don't mind," he lifted their hands a little with a half-smile, "but I don't like the looks of the air around us."

Emma shook her head and clasped his hand a bit more tightly, trying to ignore how comforting his large grip felt. Instead she focused on the wind that whipped hers and Killian's hair, a sudden gust ripping at the edges of their jackets and making her step a little closer to him.

Out of nowhere, she saw a butterfly that should have been too fragile to fight the wind, fluttering happily ahead of them, as though there wasn't a gale bending the trees and causing a shower of leaves to coat the ground.

She saw another butterfly and another. They were beautiful, their brightly colored wings glinting in the low light, shimmering like dancing rainbow-colored sparks as they darted about. They began flitting closer and closer to Emma and Killian as they walked. Something about their manner seemed odd and more than a little frightening. She glanced up at Killian and saw that his anxious expression mirrored her own. They seemed predatorial almost, as though they were hunting in a pack.

"Ow!" Emma shouted, her voice dying in the rushing wind. "What was that?" They stopped walking forward, watching as the butterflies stopped advancing too, holding their position, as if waiting to see what Killian and Emma were going to do.

.

Killian stood fast, his eyes trained on the deadly dance of the millions of butterflies that had appeared out of thin air and were now blocking the path and a good portion of the forest. _This must be the first ring of defense_. His stomach clenched as he looked over at Emma, a thin razor-like cut prominently splayed across her cheek. He lifted a finger and pointed to the red line, speaking loudly over the roaring of the wind. "I don't think these are ordinary insects."

Emma touched her cheek, wincing at the cut that was already bleeding. "It looks like these little bastards are one hell of a defense line." She looked back up at Killian, tightening her grip on his hand momentarily, and said so softly that he had to strain to hear her, "You know… you don't have to come with me."

He flashed a wide smile, hoping to calm her nerves. "And miss the chance to rescue a damsel in distress? Wouldn't dream of it."

Her expression remained serious. "I only said that to get you to agree to help me."

He brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. "And what kind of gentleman would I be if I went back on my word?" He saw her eyes flicker to his lips briefly.

Her face went from yielding to mask-like, and he wondered once again what he had said to make her go rigid. She rolled her eyes. "Right. The gentleman thing."

Truth was, Killian did not relish going through a bunch of butterflies that could somehow inflict wounds more effectively than a razor. But a promise was a promise, and he wouldn't leave Swan on her own against the nefarious midges. "Here, lass, put on your coat and do it up. The leather should offer some protection."

He tore the fabric of his shirt at the shoulder seams, ripping with several short jerks until the sleeves came free. He pulled out his knife and cut two small holes in the middle of both lengths and handed one to her. He tied one sleeve around his face, centering the holes over his eyes. She followed suit.

He buttoned his own leather jacket, pulling up the collar, stuffing his hands in his pockets to cover as much skin as possible. "Ready?" he shouted through the shirt and over the wind.

Killian saw her steel herself with a curt nod before shouting back, "As ready as I'll ever be."

"We'll run straight through the center of them. Try to stay as close to me as possible so we give them less room to attack." He watched her pretty green eyes through the fabric, looking for signs of panic, and was impressed to find only a moderate uneasiness.

Emma nodded again and stuffed her hands in her pockets after checking that as much of her neck as possible was covered before shouting, "On three. One… Two… Three."

They took off into the cloud of angry pests, heads down and running as fast as they could.

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	4. Tests

**Beta-read by the amazing Revenessa.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favs! Enjoy!**

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Chapter 4: Tests

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Emma grunted in irritation, a sliver of tender, exposed skin under her earlobe having been spliced open from the few butterflies that stood out from the main cloud—not too bad, certainly manageable, like the slip of a razor whose laceration doesn't hurt right away, only when the blood starts to flow. But then she was running headlong into the writhing horde, intent on maintaining her footing in the increased wind, and doing her best to keep from crying out as she felt their razor sharp wings slicing into every other piece of exposed skin around her neck and forehead. They scratched at her scalp and tore through the thin linen of the sleeve around her face. Eyes mere slits, she watched fixatedly as shreds of her clothing peeled away, lost forever in the mass of glistening and twisting bodies. The burning, the little hisses as her skin parted beneath the tiny knives, the butterflies drawn to her white skin peeking out from the layers of clothing like moths to a flame, Emma couldn't remember a time when she had ever hurt so much. She couldn't keep from flinching as existing cuts were sliced in new directions. Sharp pain coursed through her and she prayed they'd be through the horde quickly.

They were. But that had to have been one of the longest thirty seconds of her life. Bending over, her heart racing from the sprint as she tried to catch her breath, Emma rested her hands on her knees, eyes closed, the sweat from her palms stinging her slashed skin underneath her tattered jeans. She stood up and gingerly untied what was left of the shirt away from her head, moving slowly to prevent her injuries from hurting anymore than necessary.

She heard him walk over to her in an angry stride, waiting patiently for her to turn to him. But she was afraid to lift her battered face to Killian's eyes.

Taking a deep breath for courage, wincing as the warm air passed over her split lips, she straightened and jolted as she took in his appearance. His leather jacket and pants hung in shreds all around him, angry red lines peeking through the gaps in his clothing. But his face. His handsome face was one bloody mess, all except for his eyes. His icy blue eyes, somehow spared in the mad dash, stared out of perfectly healthy skin while the rest of his face looked like red lattice. She knew she couldn't look much better.

His eyes went from angry to compassionate as he took in her bleak expression. A smirk twisted his lips, pain crossing his features momentarily with the motion, and as if attempting to cheer her up, he said quietly, "This is where I wish I would have said, 'No, lass, you go on ahead, I'll catch up.'"

She snorted to choke back a laugh, grateful that he still had his sense of humor even in the midst of their mess.

He kept looking at her, and raised his hand as if to touch her face, but dropped it before he did. "Swan, I hope this was worth it," he said seriously.

"I have to get home, I just have to," she pleaded. Killian paused and then nodded.

A loud whoosh blasted through the forest and they turned their heads simultaneously toward the rushing air, expecting to see the dark twisting cloud behind them. Nothing was there except the path they had been following before. There was no storm, no swarm of angry butterflies, nothing except the happy forest and its accompanying noises, the bright sun poking through the canopy above in dozens of gay spotlights.

"I guess if you make it through the first line of defense, they figure they'll encourage you to leave whenever you're ready. Damn sprite," Killian chuffed almost to himself.

There was nothing for them to do except forge on ahead.

Emma was grateful that the wind had died down. As it was, every slight breeze tore across her sensitive skin like a rough cloth, with much less precision than the wings of the butterflies had.

.

.

Killian walked a little ahead of her, exasperated that the fairies' defense line had done so much damage to both their clothing and skin. He had expected some kind of obstacle, but that had been bloody vicious and rather ridiculous as far as he was concerned. Every movement hurt as his tattered clothing brushed over the thin cuts, the worst being the ones on his face, in the crook of his elbows, and in the sensitive skin behind his knees. The only part of his body relatively unaffected was his hands, having had the double layer of leather protecting them in his pockets.

And Swan! She looked a sight—behind every opening in her clothing peeked blood spattered skin, including her beautiful face that was no less striking even with all the lacerations. He wanted to hold her and heal her and protect her. Whoever she was going home to was a lucky man; she had more mettle than nearly anyone he knew.

He moved his head back and forth, eyes sweeping the landscape before them, searching for the next line of defense. It wasn't long before he stopped short, Emma nearly bumping into him—he could feel her closeness—and glad she hadn't since it would have hurt like hell.

"What is it?" She looked around him to see what had gained his attention.

"It's a patch of thorns," he said with a sigh, trying not to let defeat overtake him.

She came up alongside of him then, staring at the obstruction with wide eyes. The patch was flush with the ground, as though a pit had been dug out like an immense moat and filled with a dense hedge of three-inch thorny spikes that fanned out to either side of them indefinitely. He couldn't help but shudder as he imagined what it would feel like to fall into that expanse with all the slices currently adorning his skin.

"You've got to be kidding me. How are we supposed to cross that?" she asked in disbelief.

"Very carefully." He went to step forward, testing the weight of the hedge, hoping he'd be able to just walk across the thickest spots, but when his foot hit the first hard branch, it gave way beneath his foot, melting like quicksand, until his entire boot was sunk into the hedge.

"Or maybe not." Emma said sarcastically. "Back to my earlier question, how are we supposed to cross that?"

"Give me a minute, Swan." Killian's voice sounded sharp to his ears. And no wonder, he couldn't sit down and he had trouble thinking from the stinging pain that coursed along his body. All the wounds were superficial, but hurting nonetheless, and it was taking a minute for his brain to clear through the fog and start functioning again. He'd be damned if he'd turn around and go home either, the challenge of having already come this far spurring his unwilling body into action.

He started tapping his fingers together, grateful that his hands were untouched. He stopped the motion as an idea popped into his head. "How do you get across a bog?"

"I've no clue." She was watching him closely, curious.

"What, Swan, never traversed a bog before?" He raised an eyebrow, but quickly lowered it when his entire forehead screamed in protest.

"Can't say that I have, even in my extensive travels," she answered blandly. "What are you thinking?"

"We need to increase our surface area." At her questioning gaze, he continued, "Distribute our weight more evenly, so the hedge can't swallow us."

"That makes sense. How?" She turned back to the thorns and a look of relief passed across her face at what he assumed was his confidence they could get across.

"We'll make bog shoes." He left the edge of the thorns and began hunting around for the necessary materials.

"Bog shoes?" Emma stood rooted in the same spot, but turned her head slightly to look at him skeptically.

He grimaced with the strain of bending over as his clothing stretched across his skin. "When I was a lad, a patch of the best strawberries grew on the side of a large hill. But to get there I had to cross the valley below, and the valley was one giant bog, the sun never able to dry out that section of land on account of the angles of the surrounding terrain. I used to make a shoe of sorts that fit on the bottom of my boot so I could get across."

"Those must have been some really good strawberries." Emma followed him over to the outskirts of the path as he kept searching.

"Well, that and the adventure itself being fun. There's a thrill to defeating nature when she throws out her best." He rifled along some bushes, finally taking a knife to a few thin saplings that grew in the center of them.

"I'm beginning to understand why you like sailing so much." Her voice held a smile, although he didn't look up at her right away.

When he did look up, his eyes hardened for just as second as he beheld the angry red lines on her beautiful face. He couldn't think about their injuries right now, so he kept walking and bending as he searched around for more of the flexible twigs.

Sure enough, there were plenty of young saplings in the area. "Here, do you see these plants?" He handed her a dagger from his pack. "Cut them about yea long and bring them back to me. I'll need about forty for each of us."

.

.

The work went quickly, and thankfully Emma found lots of available saplings that he needed cut to about three feet long. She tried not to think about the pain. The cuts on her arms and legs were scabbing over, but still stung like long, thin paper cuts.

As soon as they had gathered enough saplings, Killian set to work weaving them into an intricate pattern. It took all of about fifteen minutes for him to weave four large, flat shoes that resembled snow shoes.

Emma held Killian's gaze a moment. "I'm impressed."

"Always aim to please, love." He winked over at her, and she realized he was still handsome, even with the criss-cross of narrow red lines all over his face. It was hard not to love him a little more in that moment, and she might have hugged him if she hadn't thought it would be really painful for the both of them.

He showed her how to attach the "shoes", securing the lashings around the tops of her boots and around her ankles. She took a couple of tentative steps in them, amazed at how light they felt, even if they were a bit awkward, as she stepped with her legs splayed outward so her new shoes wouldn't knock into each other.

Killian watched as she got the hang of it. "Alright, then. I'll go first. You stay just to the side and behind me a little. No sudden movements, but stay in motion at all times. Do you want to practice some more?"

She thought she had gotten the hang of it, so she shook her head no, looking up at him with trepidation in her gaze, the thought of being swallowed by a thorny hedge when she was already covered in cuts filling her with dread.

"Don't worry. We'll be fine. These defenses aren't designed to kill anyone, just to test their mettle. And that, my love, you have in spades." His eyes held affection, even though his mouth didn't follow suit on account of the pain. She was grateful for his reassurance.

Killian stood just in front of the pit of thorns, Emma lined up just a little behind and to the side of him as he had advised, ready to get going. He lifted his foot to place it on the first few branches, descending onto the thorns delicately. When they didn't move and his foot didn't sink, he began walking slowly and carefully, the hedge supporting his weight.

Emma let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, relief flooding through her when she saw that the shoes worked. She had to admit that he made it look easy. He was almost too graceful as he rolled his large shoes over the top of the unyielding thorns, moving slowly but steadily over the expanse.

Emma mimicked his movements as best she could, but wobbled a little here and there, causing the thorns to undulate like a wave from the edges of her shoes. Every time her steps weren't perfectly smooth, she could feel the suck of the thorns beneath her, as though she really was mired in some kind of muddy bog. It was strange and disconcerting at the same time, the rippling movement giving the spiked hedge the appearance of being alive.

Killian had moved a little further ahead of her, maybe about five feet instead of the two they had started out with. He stepped onto the hard ground, turning back around in triumph. "We made it!"

Emma's eyes smiled back at him, relieved that this trial would be over with just a few more strides. She lifted her foot to take another step and in her haste to get out of the awkward situation, she lost her balance, nearly falling as she quickly put her foot back down. Just as she thought she was going to be okay, her shoe turned sideways a little bit. The thorns began sucking the shoe into them, hard, as if putting everything they had into grabbing their victim, having been thwarted from taking the man. "Killian!"

.

.

Killian had been removing his shoes when she shouted his name. He quickly raised his head, instantly seeing the problem, but keeping his expression serene so she wouldn't panic. "Can you jump?"

Emma's shoe was fast becoming submerged and he struggled to keep himself calm. He wouldn't have enough time to reattach his shoes and get her, but if it came to her going under, he'd jump in after her, thorns be damned.

She bent down to untie her boot from the lashings securing it to the shoe. As soon as she did, the shoe went under and she stood on one foot, balancing her weight precariously on the edge of the other shoe. Her eyes were wide and frightened, staring as the remaining shoe began to sink, slowly, as all her weight became concentrated in one spot.

Killian had to keep her calm. "Look at me, lass." When she did, he continued in a smooth, strong voice, "That's it. Now I want you to untie your boot from the other shoe." She balanced uneasily as she bent down and untied it. She stood back up very carefully, obviously trying not to wobble. "Slow and steady, that's it. Alright. When I count to three, I want you to leap toward my arms and I'll catch you."

Emma nodded once, her smoky green eyes locked on his, focused and ready. "One… Two… Three."

Emma lowered her left foot to the side of the large shoe, bent her knees, and jumped with all she had toward his open arms. The shoe beneath her gave way, stealing her momentum and causing her to land about one foot shy of him. But she had thrown herself forward and he wrapped his arms tightly around her back, just under her arms. He could feel the thorns sucking at her boots, threatening to drag her under. He tugged her roughly toward him, grunting under her weight and the strong pull of the thorns around her legs.

She popped free and they both fell to the ground, Emma landing squarely on top of him with a loud "Umpf!"

.

.

Every point of contact on her body screamed in protest at being touched. But even with the sting of her wounds, Emma found herself melting into his comforting embrace, resting her head against his chest as she listened to the quick beat of his heart and her own ragged breathing. She sighed, her breath tickling a few of the chest hairs peeking out from his tattered jacket, his warm and spicy scent filling her head with thoughts of _her_ Killian. She knew she had remained in his arms too long when she felt him shiver beneath her, his heart beat quickening instead of slowing, and he almost imperceptibly tightened his hold on her.

"I can think of more enjoyable ways to get you on top of me, Swan," he said rakishly.

She could hear the smirk in his voice. "Really? Is that all you can think about after… after that?" Flustered and trying to hide it, she rolled off of him carefully, standing up and grimacing when she saw the fresh wounds around her knees where the thorns had dug into her skin. She offered him her hand and he took it and stood.

A loud whoosh sounded and they both turned around, looking back over the bog of thorns, which of course had disappeared already, leaving the happy forest path in their place.

"I guess we passed through the second defense," he said dryly.

"I hate to think what the last one is." She couldn't believe they had made it through two of the three lines of defense. This was harder than she had ever expected just to see the fairies. She wondered briefly about Blue, wishing she were the one in charge, having always made herself accessible to anyone who needed her, even if she was on the serious side.

"You know, lass, I'd venture a guess that these are not only defense lines, but tests." He adjusted his pack across his shoulder, wincing as he did so, and then turned to continue down the path.

She jogged up to him until she was at his side, looking over at him curiously.

He continued, "The butterflies would be a test of bravery, of fortitude. The thorn hedge would test resourcefulness." He paused, thoughtful.

"And the last?" she asked, almost dreading the answer.

"I imagine it would be endurance," he said easily, like the last two tests weren't insane.

Emma shuddered to imagine what that could entail, but knew she would find out soon enough.


	5. The Lodge

**Beta-read by the wonderful Revenessa. **

* * *

Chapter 5: The Lodge

* * *

Hot, sweaty, tired and irritated, Killian and Emma walked along the endless forest path, well past

the spot where the fairy conclave should be, and if they hadn't been following such a clear trail, Killian might have thought they'd missed a turn. He kept sweeping his eyes back and forth, searching for the last line of defense, but not seeing anything of note, the path continuing on as before. He watched the sky, convinced that it should be darkening at any moment with the descent of the sun, only to find that it appeared to be fixed in one spot. In fact, it looked like it hadn't moved in the last few hours. _So this _is_ a test of endurance_, he thought sourly.

Their conversation had dwindled as fatigue overtook them. His eyes eventually settled on his feet and he strove to keep moving, wishing for nothing more than this mad trek to end quickly. The pain from his cuts had diminished to a dull ache that sapped any extra energy he might have had, and it weighed on him that Emma must be suffering as well, although she made no sound except an occasional grunt.

Just when he was about to suggest taking a break, he heard her say with an edge to her voice, "Look… Oh please, not again." She groaned, frowning as she pointed up ahead.

He slowly turned his eyes further up the path, following the line of her slender finger. Directly in front of them, fanning out to either side was another cloud of tiny specks, pinpricks of light that danced too and fro. At first glance, they looked like smaller versions of the glistening butterflies without all the color, but as he advanced toward the swirls, he saw they weren't insects at all. In fact, the cloud looked like sparkly dust motes dancing in the morning light. But where dust motes were lazy and moved with air currents, these undulated in intricate patterns, each light somehow connected to its neighbor. He looked back at Emma, noting her tired eyes and the tight line of her mouth.

"What do you think they do?" she asked in dismay.

He smiled encouragingly. "I've no idea, lass. Only one way to find out, though."

"I'm not sure I want to." She stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the tiny undulating lights. The fingers of one hand caressed the other arm absently, gently rubbing a few of her scabs.

She really didn't want to do this. He could see the strain in her eyes, the fatigue from the last few days threatening to overtake her, shoulders slumping in despair. The protective part of Killian wanted to gather her up in his arms and carry her through this last obstacle, safe against his body. If he could, he would envelop her with his own determination, protecting her against any foe or pain or obstacle they should come across. But he knew it didn't work that way. If she wanted her audience with the fairies, she would have to make it through the last line of defense herself.

"Me neither. What say you to sitting here and resting for a spell? We could eat hardtack and drink from our near empty canteens, have a nap and then head back home." He raised a brow at her in challenge, wanting to prod that rebellious part of her into action, knowing full well she would forge on.

"Not really an option when you put it that way," she said with a deadpan expression.

"We can do this, Swan. Here, take my hand and we'll go through this test the same as the last."

She hesitated a moment, wavering and unsure, whether about taking his hand or about facing the last defense, he didn't know. But she took his hand anyway, glancing down at their entwined fingers before pulling her gaze up to his, resignation softening her features. She said nothing else, turning her eyes back to the moving mass of lights. There was nothing left to guard their faces; the sleeves of their jackets would offer very little if any protection this time.

They walked forward slowly, as one, heads down.

.

.

Emma felt nothing at first as they reluctantly approached the cloud of what she assumed were more insects. But once she was in the thick of the mass, she found her feet rooted to the spot where she stood. She couldn't see more than a couple of inches in front of her face, the lights blinding in their proximity, her eyes closing against the glare. She couldn't feel Killian's hand anymore either.

The lights edged closer to her body—she knew because every hair on her arms and nape of her neck stood out—and she gasped as the first ones touched her in a searing pain before blanketing her entire body. Every piece of exposed skin was licked with a freezing bite, so chilly it tingled and burned, not unlike the feeling of blood returning to an appendage that has fallen asleep. She heard Killian's sharp intake of breath, but there were no words or swears that fell from his lips. If he was experiencing what she was, then she understood why, the glacial embrace took all words away.

Every gash on her body was ripped opened anew. Every thin scab was peeled away, her wounds oozing as they gaped open all over again. Excruciating pain caused her to cry out as the lights encircled and enveloped her, leaving no part of her body unaffected.

It lasted for an hour, or what felt like an hour since there was no way of knowing how much time had actually passed. The intimate fiery touch of those things, whatever they were, caressed her like a pox that is indifferent in its attentions as to where it inflicts its damage.

The pain became so acute, so all encompassing, that she could feel her head stretching upward as her mind tried to separate itself from the rest of her body, as though she could somehow flee the intensity of it, the never-ending chill scorching her skin. She remembered the last time her fingers had been frostbitten, how her colorless digits had ached almost like they were broken as the blood returned to the frozen appendages. But this wasn't just her fingers, this was her whole body.

She began to feel cold all over, and was vaguely aware of shock setting in, some observant part of her brain recalling her first aid training all those years ago. She knew then that she was going to faint.

But just before she did faint, it stopped. The pain halted as abruptly as it had started, and she sagged to the ground in blessed relief, releasing Killian's hand that she had forgotten she was even holding. She paused to catch her breath before opening her eyes to find him.

He was still standing, eyes tightly shut and mouth grim. She could see nothing of the bright spots of light, but she knew the pain had finally stopped when he groaned loudly and his tense shoulders relaxed.

He turned to her and they both gasped in surprise. Where before they had been covered in specks of blood and scabs, their skin was now perfectly smooth, as if their lacerations had never existed. Emma looked down at her arms and legs and noticed that only her clothes remained tattered and bloodied, which was why she hadn't noticed the clear skin beneath them right away.

"Swan." Killian choked.

He bent down to sit on the ground next to her, nearly losing his balance in the process. She took in the compassionate expression on his face and without realizing it, slid into his lap and put her arms around his neck. "Thank you. Thank you so much for doing this with me." Her tears started slowly at first, just a dab at the corners of her eyes, but she couldn't check them as the events of the day and the fatigue finally caught up to her.

He just held her, gruffly croodling little endearments in her ear, comforting her the same way _her_ Killian had comforted her when she had seen how happy her parents were after the birth of her brother and she had cried for all those years lost without their love.

She kept crying until all the frustration, fear and anxiety, and the weight of her current predicament found its way out of her body through the salty tears. He gently rocked her back and forth, holding her close to his body while he rubbed her back soothingly. She buried her head in his neck, inhaling his scent, musky from all the activity, and her sobs continued unabated as she cried for _her_ Killian back home, how worried he must be, and Henry, oh how she missed Henry.

She slowly became aware of what she was doing, of how close they were, of their skin touching through the shredded clothing which offered little coverage, her body warming with awareness of his hard muscles supporting her weight. She lifted her eyes to his, his intense blue gaze

filled with tenderness.

She heard a cough and twisted her head around, surprised to see a line of attractive petite women each entirely dressed in a different color standing in front of them on the path.

"Oh!" Emma stiffened and extricated herself from Killian's arms before standing up, embarrassed at having been caught in such a vulnerable position.

An older woman standing off to the side moved out in front. She was dressed all in white with long silver hair, a tight-lipped smile on her face. "Welcome to the Lodge. My name is Mother Pearl, and I am the matron in charge." Her eyes swept them up and down, lingering only briefly on their dishabille as if it was nothing of consequence.

Emma watched as another woman dressed all in purple ran to stand in the line. She was striking just like the others, her cheeks reddened in embarrassment, and she shrank into herself as if she could hide from the all-seeing eyes of the head fairy who had glanced at her briefly, narrowing her gray eyes for just a moment before turning back to Emma and Killian.

Mother Pearl continued. "I will be placing Violet here in charge of seeing to your needs." She cut her eyes to the latecomer once again, and Emma couldn't help but feel as though she and Killian were Violet's punishment for being late. They were obviously considered a burden.

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but Mother Pearl held a hand up. "I know you have many questions. Violet will see to your needs first. We will have an audience tomorrow morning." She turned away abruptly, her authority plain in her tone. She was a woman who was clearly accustomed to being obeyed.

The rest of the fairies eyed them precariously for a few more moments before silently turning to follow their leader. Only Violet stayed behind.

"Oh goodness, what luck! I never get to meet humans. How exciting!" She clasped her hands together in exuberance, looking up at them expectantly.

Emma watched the little woman with interest, wondering how she managed to stay so cheerful amid the severity of her leader.

"Lead on, lass. We're both tired and hungry from the day's travails," Killian said and winked at her. She blushed prettily in response.

Emma nudged him and he looked down at her with a shrug of his shoulders and an upraised eyebrow. She knew he was an awful flirt, but she hadn't expected to feel the twinge of jealousy when she saw his eyes sweep the form of the younger woman.

Violet led them forward on the path alone, all the other fairies having disappeared already. She stopped in front of a large tree just off the path, pressing into the rough bark with a tiny key-like instrument hanging around her neck. A door opened and she walked through, motioning them to follow her with a delicate hand.

.

.

Killian and Emma ducked their heads and followed the petite woman into the tree. She was very young, Killian thought, perhaps only sixteen or so, and charming, with an easy smile and obvious grace. He stole a quick glance at Emma, her athletic figure agile, long limbs elegant; it was her beauty he preferred.

The interior of the tree was very dark, the only light being what illuminated them from behind, giving it the appearance of a dark cave. They walked straight ahead for several minutes and Killian had to grab Emma's elbow to steady her a couple of times when she nearly stumbled with a misstep. As the light behind them shrank to a miniscule dot, they came to the end of the passage and Violet pulled out her tiny key, once again pressing it into the bark in front of them. The bark slid back and he blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

They were standing in a huge circle of very large trees, bigger than anything he'd seen in the Enchanted Forest, with trunks as wide as his ship was crossways. In the center of the clearing was a bright blue pool, the sunlight glinting off the water, with several fairies dressed in sleeveless tunics delightfully splashing each other. He could see small huts that resembled tiny mushrooms made from grasses and strips of tree bark tucked deliberately between the huge trees. The brightly dressed fairies were coming in and out of the huts, busily working, laughing, humming, carrying small baskets, stopping to talk with each other. The idyllic scene was devoid of any possible danger, and Killian's entire body relaxed as he released the tension he always held when venturing into the unknown.

He glanced over at Emma and saw that her expression of awe mirrored his. Dark circles rimmed her eyes still red from crying and she swayed on her feet.

"Whoa, lass." He put his arm around her to prop her up, and she smiled a weak thanks.

Violet was still walking forward. "These are the guest huts." She indicated two squat little buildings near the entry that looked much like the rest, but without all the activity surrounding them. "You'll find a cot and a basin for a quick wash. I'll be back with clothes and food." She hurried away toward another small building.

"Here we go, Swan." Killian opened the door to the first hut and led Emma inside. It was sparsely furnished with a cot along one wall, a woven mat lying on the wooden floor. He saw a small wooden bench and accompanying table that held a ewer and basin with a cloth neatly folded next to it.

He eased Emma down onto the cot and watched as she fell sideways onto the provided pillow, closing her eyes in bliss. A light snore left her mouth and he grinned down at her, amazed that anyone could fall asleep so quickly. He pulled off her boots and lifted her legs onto the bed, pulling the folded blanket up over her shoulders. He gently moved the hair away from her face, gazing at her long eyelashes and relaxed features, wondering once again who she was and what her life was like. Without quite knowing what possessed him, he placed a chaste kiss on her brow. Her lips turned up at the corners in response, and he smiled, sincerely pleased that his touch could affect her in such a way.

He gently closed the door behind him and went to his own hut, using the basin to wash his face and hands and wait patiently for the fairy to return with a change of clothing.

====o0I0o====

Having already discerned the hour to be sometime before early dawn, Emma quietly slipped out of the door of her hut, feeling rested but a little sore as she made her way to the large pool she had barely acknowledged when they had first arrived. The fairy had thoughtfully left her a cake of soap and a large piece of linen cloth Emma could only assume was for toweling off.

She crossed a large expanse of soft green grass that grew right to the edge of the now dark water, a slight fog rolling over the top of the expanse. Shivering in delight, she gratefully removed her tattered jeans and tank that stuck to her skin in the places where her congealed blood had stiffened the material.

Dressed in her bra and panties, but not really worrying since the Lodge was occupied by women only, Emma dipped her toes in first and tested the temperature and depth of the water. A soft sigh escaped her lips when she realized it was deliciously warm, tiny bubbles forming around her feet and legs as she moved. Taking the cake of soap, she stepped in deeper, a gentle slope easing away from the bank. The mossy bottom tickled and relaxed her achy feet.

Dunking her head under the water and parting the waves of her hair to get it completely saturated, she took the bar of soap and vigorously rubbed it over her tresses, surprised when it lathered up almost as much as any fine body wash. A faintly floral scent surrounded her, a huge improvement over her sweat-soaked body odor.

When her hair was complete, she washed the rest of her body twice, taking special care over the places and crevices that needed extra attention.

When she was finished, she laid back in the shallow water, resting her body on the soft bottom, allowing her legs to float lazily to the surface. The water's effervescence flitted sensually over her skin as erotic as any lover's caress.

With her sore muscles soothed and her body finally clean, Emma casually turned over and began swimming across the length of the large pond, enjoying the quiet morning to collect her thoughts before she had to face the white fairy.

"Good morning, beautiful." Killian's quiet words rolled across the water, startling Emma from her relaxing moment and filling her belly with nervous excitement. She had made it to the center of the pool, and began treading water while straining her eyes around the perimeter, searching for her pirate. No, not _her_ pirate. Her pirate was back in Storybrooke, probably going mad with worry and tearing up the town trying to find her.

She felt the ripples of water as he swam toward her. He came into view, his hair dripping over his forehead, his strong smooth strokes indicating he was an accomplished swimmer. He smiled easily, clearly enjoying the water as much as she was. He stopped a few feet in front of her.

"Good morning, Jones," she said airily, hating how nervous he made her feel.

His comfortable smile fell just a notch as he efficiently treaded water. "Have you had anything to eat yet?"

He was always concerned for her well-being, here and at home. "Yes, there was some kind of oatcake sitting on top of the clean clothing. I devoured it and then came out here for a wash."

"Aye. I saw that much," he smirked, his breath hitching slightly. Either he was winded, or she was affecting him as much as he was her.

Her face flushed and she told herself that it was the warmth of the steamy water and not the realization that he had probably watched her whole bath and enjoyed every second of it. Changing the subject to a safer topic, she asked, "What do you think of this place?" and looked around the edges of the pool.

"It's well enough. I understand why few people ever come here though." He was staring at her now, and had inched closer to her.

Emma guffawed, "Yeah, right. You'd have to be pretty determined to brave those defenses to get in."

Killian raised a brow, "Sounds like someone I know," he said pointedly. "But as to your question, I haven't been able to learn anything new. After you fell asleep, I tried to question the Violet fairy about what to expect when we meet Mother Pearl, but she was reticent to give anything away. She kept changing the topic back to personal needs, making sure I rested, that I had all the food and clothing I needed, was I warm enough, that kind of thing. It was a bit off-putting after her previous vitality."

Emma pursed her lips in thought. "I wonder what happened."

"I imagine she had a good scolding by the white fairy herself," he said mischievously, treading ever closer to her.

Ignoring his proximity and the way it sent little shivers through her limbs, she asked, "Speaking of Mother Pearl, how do you think I should approach the interview?"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes amused. "You mean, how are you most likely to get the information you seek out of her?"

"Well… yeah," she said as though that were obvious. The water lapped around them and their words came out in breathy whispers.

"Judging by just the little I've seen of her, I imagine we should remain very respectful of her authority." His leg brushed hers and Emma couldn't stop her heart from accelerating at his blue eyes that had darkened perceptibly in the starlight, at his carefree expression that invited her touch, his arms widening just a bit as though he meant to embrace her right then. She could see he wasn't wearing a shirt and she vaguely wondered if he was wearing anything else, the water too dark to tell. _Come on, Swan, focus_.

Emma abruptly turned, swallowing past the catch in her throat, and began swimming toward the shoreline where she had left her linen towel, using the time to collect herself.

He didn't say anything, but she could feel the ripples of the water as he followed behind her.

He stopped just shy of the shallow water. Emma continued until she had made it to the shore, stepping out of the water quickly, keeping her back to him while she wrapped herself in the length of linen.

She heard him get out of the water behind her and resisted the urge to turn around, not wanting to tempt herself beyond her power to refuse. As it was, he wasn't going to let her get away so easily.

"Where did you learn to swim?" he asked conversationally while she gathered her tattered clothing.

His deep voice enveloped her like a warm shawl, and without thinking, she turned back around to answer the question. Sure enough, he stood dripping wet, a pair of un-dyed linen drawstring pants hanging precariously low on his hips, sticking to his legs, the muscles of his chest rippling under the droplets that covered his skin.

Emma's mouth went dry and her arms fell limply at her sides as her eyes swept her sexy pirate. He had shaken his head so that his hair hung wet and loose around his face, a couple of locks curling over his forehead. He looked rakish in the waning starlight.

"W… what?" She had to get control over herself.

He smirked at her discomfort, raising one brow at her mockingly, although his tone kept its leisurely feel. "Where did you learn to swim? It's not often that I see a lass with such a sure _stroke_ in the water." He grinned mischievously.

She wasn't at all surprised at her reaction to him—she had always been attracted to him—no, what surprised her was that she was actively struggling to keep herself detached from his charm. Even thinking of him as Jones, as a different person all-together, didn't seem to help; her body consistently betrayed her. And yes, he had way fewer scars she noted wryly.

She turned back around and walked further away from the pool onto the soft grass. "Oh. That. I was on the high-school swim team."

She felt his hand on her shoulder and she turned around to look at him. "Will you sit with me for a bit? We have a few minutes before dawn."

His blue eyes shone intensely in the misty morning, the steam from the pool encircling them in a light fog that hid the huts from view as it mingled with the early morning air. Unable to deny his soft smile, she nodded.

Once settled in the grass, one leg outstretched and the other bent, he looked back out over the now still water and asked, "What's high-school and swim team?"

Emma chuckled, having momentarily forgotten who she was talking to. "High-school is a place of learning for teenagers, um, kids aged thirteen to eighteen. Swim team is a sport where kids compete against each other in the different strokes. There's a prize for whoever is fastest."

"Ah, I see. And were you any good at it?" he inquired.

She plucked a piece of grass and began fiddling with it to try and escape his focused gaze. "I was adequate. I occasionally brought home a trophy, uh, prize. I mostly joined to stay away from the orphanage or whatever foster home I was in. Swim team practice was right after school and kept me busy until suppertime in the warmer months."

He nodded in acknowledgment.

"What about you? Where did you learn to swim?" She tucked her knees into her chest and hugged them, curling into herself to shake the feeling of being so exposed under his vivid gaze.

"Remember the bog I was telling you about?" She nodded. "Not far from it, a fresh spring emptied into a creek bed—the overflow kept the valley wet year round, hence the bog. But the creek itself was quite deep in several spots. Liam taught me how to swim by throwing me in and letting me sputter back to the bank. It only took two such tossings before I learned the basics of swimming." He smiled, eyes faraway in remembrance.

"You and Liam were close." She spoke quietly, trying not to disturb his reverie.

"Aye, as close as two brothers could be with such a large separation in age. You want to hear a funny story?" He grinned invitingly at her, her heart speeding up in response to the delight in his eyes.

She looked away from him, but nodded.

He continued. "Liam decided that I needed to know more than just how to swim, especially if I wanted to go into the Navy like he had, so he made it a practice of tying my hands and feet together before tossing me into the creek. He said if I could get out of the water without being able to use my limbs, then I'd be safe on the sea indeed. I became quite good at it, wriggling my way to the bank like a deranged inchworm. Anyway, one day Liam brought Mrs. Fritz to the shoreline to watch my new skill, only he hadn't told her anything. He tied me up good and tight and tossed me in the water. I never heard anyone scream so loud in my life. She started beating Liam on the chest, shouting at him, 'How could you? He's my baby!' and other such nonsense. Liam was laughing so hard he was nearly crying. I wriggled onto the shore and stood to the side of her until she stopped her wailing, having already released my arms and legs from the ropes as soon as I hit the ground. It was then she realized that I hadn't drowned and pulled me into a rough embrace, patting my head and mussing my hair fiercely. She told me I was going to be the death of her." He was laughing in earnest now, eyes squinting with the effort of trying to keep quiet.

.

.

Emma giggled softly at his story, her eyes almost unreadable, as though she were hiding something. They were in a cocoon of fog and Killian could have stayed there indefinitely, telling her funny stories just to watch her eyes crinkle and her full lips quirk in pleasure. She was so beautiful wrapped in the linen, her long legs peeking out from the bottom of the long cloth. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes away as she had washed herself, his own body responding with a need he'd never felt before, leaving him feeling almost like an intruder spying on her intimate activities. Almost.

He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to love her in the soft grass with the surrounding air encapsulating them in a cushioned cloud that protected them from any onlookers. It was a magical moment.

Holding her smiling green eyes with his own, he thought to himself how easy it would be to just lean over and press his lips to hers. Yet because he instinctively knew she was different from the women he usually attended, he restrained himself. Her breathing became labored and she looked away from him, the spell broken.

A loud clanging bell rang across the clearing, loud enough to startle Killian, and Emma too by the way she jumped. He rose quickly, offering his hand to Emma, although she waved it away and stood on her own. He let it fall to his side, disappointed that she appeared to be shutting him out again, and at the same time determined to take on the challenge of winning her heart.

The fog rolled away as though the bell had been a fierce wind blowing across the pool, leaving the air crystal clear while the clanging echo abated. At the door of nearly every hut, two different colored fairies emerged, chattering happily to greet the dawn. They all nodded in sync and clapped their hands together three times before lining up single file along the far edge of the trees.

Killian and Emma jogged back toward their huts to dress for their meeting with the white fairy.

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	6. The White Fairy

**Beta-read by the magnanimous Revenessa!**

**So sorry about the delay, guys. I like to update twice a week, but life, you know, got in the way. Sigh!-DD**

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Chapter 6: The White Fairy

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Shaking as she tied her wet hair back in a torn strip of cloth, Emma took a deep breath and counted to ten to calm her racing heart. Her body tingled all over, the soft and loose linen pants and long-sleeved tunic sliding over her skin sensually like a pair of hands lightly grazing, exploring. Although she wished it was from the swim, fatigue and sore muscles, she knew it wasn't. She had lately been in the habit of being brutally honest with herself, having learned from her short time with her family that it's easier to face something head on, rather than stuff it and wait for it to rear its ugly head. No, Jones was affecting her alright, his crystal blue gaze telling her without words precisely what it was he wanted. The only thing she didn't know was how serious he was about it.

But whatever he was thinking or feeling, and no matter her reaction to it, she couldn't deal with that right now, being filled with a strange combination of excitement and dread, anticipation and a little fear. The White Fairy wore intimidation like a second skin, and Emma knew that the success or failure of her venture back home could depend on the small unfriendly woman. She would take Jones's advice and just remain as respectful as possible.

Donning a pair of leather-like slippers, she stepped out into the warm air, emerging from her hut to see Jones waiting for her, dressed similarly, his approving gaze lingering on her comfortable attire.

"You look like an unadorned sheik," she said straight-faced, but unable to keep the humor from her tone. He was as handsome as always, relaxed and yet ready for action at the same time. She always wondered how he managed to stay so nonchalant regardless of the situation.

Perplexed, he dropped his gaze to his attire and then back up. "Come again?"

"Maybe if we add a turban and some large necklaces…" She rolled her hand around her head to imitate the swirl of the cloth headdress.

He must have realized she was teasing. "Ahh, the way they dress in the orient. Then what would you be, love, my concubine?" he smirked.

She rolled her eyes and turned to walk toward the line of fairies waiting for breakfast. "No, I'd be your chief executioner."

She heard him chuckle behind her, "HA! That you would, lass, that you would." She could almost see him shaking his head and jogging to catch up with her, a small smile on his face.

After a fairly filling breakfast of goat cheese, another oatcake, and herbal tea, served buffet-style from one of the huts and then eaten outside, a buxom little fairy clad in head-to-toe crimson with hair to match approached Emma and Killian to take them to the white fairy. Her natural movements were infused with invitation, her dark eyes drifting over Killian in a decidedly flirty manner as she introduced herself as Garnet. _Jones' dream-girl_, Emma thought with distaste, catching his upturned brow at the girl's brazen expression.

Garnet ushered them across the large clearing, past the center pool, and past the furthest huts into the forest beyond. Emma unfortunately noticed how Jones's eyes tarried on the gentle sway of the fairy's hips, and whereas Emma's clothing was rather loose, Garnet's bright red tunic hugged her petite and shapely figure.

The quality of the forest changed remarkably once they were beyond the main circle of trees, from the casual atmosphere of a comfortable campsite to an ethereal netherworld. Large drops of dew hung from the thick branches of the tall conifer-like trees, glistening like diamonds in the sunlight. The air was clean and crisp, the smells of pine and green herbs weaving together in a compound matrix that cleansed the pallet with every breath. Tiny flowers peeked out intermittently along the path, scattered here and there at the base of the trees, cheerfully lifting their colorful faces to the sunlight streaming through the canopy in veils of fresh light.

Emma looked over at Killian, awed at having the opportunity to witness the supernatural beauty of a place few ever beheld. His expression was one of casual observance, and she realized that he had quite possibly seen such places in his many travels. He smiled gently back at her, his blue eyes translucent as they reflected the diaphanous light. He reached for her hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze before letting go and looking ahead once more.

Turning a sharp corner on the path, Killian and Emma stopped abruptly, simultaneously gasping at the unexpected structure rising above them. It was tall with rounded sides and domed roof, at least a couple of stories, and whereas the huts in the clearing resembled delicate versions of dwellings built by indigenous peoples, this had walls that shone like the thin film of a bubble.

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see that the walls were actually made from the criss-crossing of fine strands of some kind of luminous fiber, imitating the intricate workings of a spider's web with a very tight weave. As soon as she was close enough to touch, Emma reached out a tentative hand, expecting the strands to be coarse, only to find they formed a coherent structure that was cool and hard, a little bumpy like blown glass.

Garnet led them into the main door at the long end of the oval chamber. Their footsteps padded on the polished stone floor, and the light shone through the walls and ceiling in gossamer rays, refracting into hundreds of color variations, the whole room shimmering with thousands of tiny rainbows. Emma stood up straighter, wishing she could glide across the floor like a graceful dancer rather than the klutz she often was.

Short, white wooden benches lined either side of the main aisle leading up to a dais, giving the place the appearance of some kind of small and delicate cathedral, but without the stained glass, which couldn't have competed with the crystalline walls anyway.

It took Emma a moment to notice Mother Pearl sitting straight-backed on a low bench atop the platform at the opposite end of the aisle. As they walked closer, Emma could see that her bench was made out of the same material as the walls, catching the sunlight as well and bending it into tiny rainbows reflected on the smooth floor.

The white fairy's demeanor and position were meant to be imposing; Emma could tell by the woman's stark expression, her silver hair drawn back into a tight bun that pulled at the edges of her face. But after a few moments of allowing the tranquil and beautiful setting to calm her own nerves, Emma wondered if perhaps the head fairy was more bark than bite. Garnet delivered them in front of the first step leading up to the dais, and then moved to stand next to the wall, resembling a little red sentry.

"Welcome, Emma Swan and Killian Jones," Mother Pearl said, staring down at them from her position, not quite smiling.

Emma smiled back cautiously, and glanced briefly at Killian, who wore an expression of pleasant entertainment. She hoped she appeared to be as composed as he was.

"Thank you for your hospitality, milady." Killian spread his arms wide and pointed one boot forward before descending into a sweeping bow as sure as if he were bowing before royalty. His exaggerated gesture earned him an amused smile in return.

"You are welcome. Now, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Her smile faded; she was all business.

Killian looked back at Emma, patiently waiting for her to make her petition.

"We have come to ask your help," Emma said seriously, without dropping her gaze from the fairy's face.

"I gathered as much. Very few contain the fortitude to pass through our defenses, and those that do generally have a solid reason." She tilted her head at them, and Emma wanted to shrink beneath her steady gray-eyed examination.

"Killian has told me that you are the keeper of magic." At the fairy's nod Emma continued, "I need help getting back to my time."

Mother Pearl's eyes held interest now. "And are you from the Enchanted Forest?"

"No. The land without magic," Emma answered, keeping her voice steady.

"So you need to realm-jump into the future?" The fairy pressed her delicate hands together. "I see why you sought us out. You must know that this will be extremely difficult." Her gaze bore through Emma as if trying to ferret out a truth that Emma might be hiding.

"So I figured." Emma finally looked away from those keen gray eyes, although she could still feel their weight until the fairy turned to Killian.

"And what is your interest in Miss Swan's endeavor, Master Jones? Surely you are not attempting to realm-jump through time as well?"

"No. Miss Swan hired me merely as her guide," he answered pointedly. The fairy's eyes swept over him, her piercing gaze calculating as she paused, considering their answers.

"Very well. I will tell you what you must do." She stepped down from her bench and motioned for them to follow her through one of the doors at the back of the platform. Emma hadn't noticed them at first because of the reflection of the light all around. Garnet fell into step behind them.

They entered a small chamber, an office of sorts, with a white wooden table and matching bench. There was another door off to the side, and Emma could see that there must be several chambers tucked into the back of the building, although with the way the light entered the main hall, one would never know they existed. She speculated that this must be Mother Pearl's private residence.

There were letters and maps spread across the table, overlapping each other and resembling the desk of a military commander. _I bet she could command troops_, Emma thought, a small smile playing at her lips as she imagined an army following the petite but severe leader, white hair blowing about her face as she ordered the men to march.

"Here." Mother Pearl pulled one of the maps from the bottom of the stack. "Do you see this location?" Emma stared at the map blankly, twisting her head to Killian to see if he understood.

"Aye. We would be here." He pointed to their current location. Mother Pearl nodded and raised a brow, obviously impressed.

"Correct. And here is where you will need to go. There is a seer who lives on the edge of the forest, several days journey from here. She is a gate-keeper of sorts, the only one who can set you on the path to travel through time."

She paused a moment, her delicate fingers tapping the table top. "I would caution you though. If she puts you on the path, there is no turning back, and the journey will be dangerous, threatening your very existence." She stared at Jones deliberately, and Emma wondered if she was trying to discourage him from helping her.

_Great,_ Emma thought, just what she needed, another long, hard dangerous journey through who knew what and who knew where. She looked at Killian to find him thoughtfully stroking his chin with his hand, ignoring the fairies pointed gaze, his two day old beard rustling under his fingers as he plainly considered the map and possibly the best way to get to the seer's location.

"May I trace a likeness of this map, milady?" he asked, eyes expectant.

"Certainly." She gestured to Garnet, who had been standing near the door, and gave her instructions to bring a sheet of vellum and a charcoal stick for her guests. The fairy hurried to do her bidding.

Killian addressed Emma, "I think I can get there fastest by sea. My ship is anchored here, and we would only have to sail around this point," he pointed to an outcropping that jutted into the water, "to here. Then we could continue overland, possibly shaving at least one day off the journey than if we traveled overland the entire way."

Emma nodded, finding it hard to believe they were really going through with this, although it was true that he might decide to drop her off at the seer and let her continue on her own from that point. She sincerely hoped he would go with her, though.

Garnet returned with the requested materials, brushing her body against Jones as she leaned over to place them on the desk, earning a smirk and upturned brow from him in return. She was a pretty girl, young though, and although she couldn't have had many dealings with men, she certainly seemed to be at ease with this one. Emma wanted to punch the crimson fairy in the face.

Mother Pearl spoke, breaking through Emma's uncharitable thoughts. "You are welcome to make yourselves comfortable for another day, and then I'm afraid our hospitality will end there. We have much training in the magic arts that goes on each day, and I'll not have our routine unduly upset because of _distractions_." With that she narrowed her eyes at Killian, obviously having caught the exchange between Garnet and him.

He gave her a wide-mouthed grin. "You have been most gracious, and most kind, milady. We accept your offer of another day of rest, and will relieve you of our presence tomorrow morning," Killian said easily, answering her accusation with an inclination of his head that said he intended to behave.

"Very well. Garnet here will show you the activities around the conclave. Feel free to sit in on any of the classes, or to enjoy another dip in our pool." She dismissed the pair with a wave of her hand and sat down at the desk, shuffling through the papers to find the one she wanted.

Garnet smiled at them both, her eyes passing over Emma before remaining on Killian for a moment. She waved them forward with a flick of her wrist before hurrying them out the way they came in, her feet barely making a sound along the stone floor. They followed obediently, Killian picking up the vellum and charcoal on the way out, and Emma curious about what kinds of activities occurred at a place so isolated from human interaction.

Killian stopped her once they left the building. "I'm going back to my hut to get this map traced out. I'm confident I could make the sea-journey with little to no difficulty, but the overland journey is a bit more involved, and I don't want to leave here without a map."

Emma nodded, looking up at him with a smile.

He placed his hand on her arm and squeezed, his blue eyes intensifying as he stared down at her. "I'll find you later."

_A promise_. Emma shivered, briefly wondering if that was what he intended.

He released her arm and moved off in the direction of the guest huts, her gaze following his retreating form. _Milah, Milah, Milah, _Emma reminded herself. She couldn't get lost in those deep blue eyes; she had to remember Milah.

Shaking her head to clear her pirate's face, _no, Jones's face,_ from her mind, she hurried to catch up with the retreating red figure that drifted across the ground with quick steps.

When they had reached the clearing once again, Garnet greeted a fairy dressed all in yellow, the sunshiny color reflected in the tiny woman's buoyant face, long golden hair falling straight down to her waist. "Daisy, will you be so kind as to escort Miss Swan around the Lodge? Mother Pearl has given her permission to attend one of the classes if she'd like. There's something I need to do." Garnet lowered her lashes, allowing her eyes to trail briefly over to the guest huts, and Emma wondered exactly what it was she _needed_ to do.

"Sure. It would be my pleasure, Miss Swan." Daisy held out her tiny hand in introduction.

Emma and Daisy arrived at an open door to one of the huts. Glancing around inside, Emma saw several of the small women weaving the most intricate baskets and rugs she'd ever seen. Stepping further inside out of curiosity, she saw that the baskets exhibited several different colors, brilliant pinks and blues, greens and golds, rather than the usual brown that most homemade baskets displayed.

"How do you get so many colors out of the materials?" Emma asked.

"We use grasses, see?" The fairy picked up a handful of thin reeds. Then we dye some of them using flowers and spices or even magic in some cases. She smiled, pointing to a pile of a shimmery pink dust that Emma instantly recognized.

"Pixie dust?"

"Yes! Do you know it? It does the most wonderful things. We novices are only given a certain portion for training. Once we pass all our tests, we can become a proper member of the order and we're entrusted with a much larger amount." She flushed prettily, and Emma realized that she was very much looking forward to that day.

Allowing Daisy to lead her back into the sunshine, Emma asked, "What kind of tests do you take?"

"Well, a few of them are similar to the tests you passed when you arrived here. And then we have written exams that test our knowledge of herbal extracts, plants and flowers and such—Mother Pearl has a very extensive library of manuals we must study. And then we are tested experientially. Mother Pearl sets up scenarios that test the best way to handle a situation, sometimes it's a test involving black magic or maybe how to help a human who is in need." She inclined her head to Emma to indicate that she was one such human.

"There are different ways to handle everything. Mother Pearl's biggest concern is maintaining the integrity of magic; she thinks the misuse of magic possibly the worst evil in the world. That's the reason for all the secrecy, see? If we make magic hard to acquire, then it's less likely to fall into the wrong hands."

Emma nodded. It certainly made sense. "Don't you worry that someone determined enough to use black magic would find a way though?"

"Oh, of course. But Pearl has other methods she employs for those who are most devious."

She raised her brows and Emma wondered what those methods were.

"The Dark One exists, right? Doesn't he use black magic?"

"Oh, sure. But he really doesn't like to share all that much. So unless he's inclined to take an apprentice, which so far he doesn't seem inclined, then magic stays somewhat protected. Here we are."

She led Emma into another hut, this one filled with women doing all kinds of exercises that resembled pilates or yoga. The positions, however, made the fairies look like contortionists, and Emma doubted she'd be able to keep up in such a class, even with her regular gym work outs when she was at home.

Daisy seemed to be looking for a suitable activity for Emma. When Emma realized what she was doing, she said, "Listen, I'm still a little tired from our journey here. Do you mind if I go lie down for awhile? I really don't feel up to joining a class, although I appreciate the offer tremendously."

The yellow fairy nodded, her enthusiasm dampened a bit. "I understand. The outer defense lines are trying."

Emma chuffed.

Daisy smiled again. "It was nice to meet you. I'll see you at the dinner bell then. Bye." And with that she flitted away toward another one of the buildings.

Emma had no intention of lying down. Knocking and opening the door to Jones's hut, she intended to check how the copying was going. She was very surprised to see him sitting on his cot, comfortably slouched against the wall, a pillow under his back for support, and his hands behind his head. Garnet sat charmingly on the small stool, her own tiny feet captured between his extended legs, and laughing prettily at something he must have said. Jones glanced up at Emma, raising a brow at her interruption with an almost confrontational air to his flashing blue gaze.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize…" She trailed off and closed the door quickly, cheeks reddening.

Going back over to her own hut, Emma plopped down on her cot, staring at the ceiling of the comfortable little room, frustrated. Seeing all his attention trained on the saucy little woman wrenched her gut, a wave of nausea dispersing through her tightly-wound body and filling her limbs with lead. What was she doing? She knew he was a notorious flirt, knew he had every right to conduct himself anyway he saw fit. She was only here for his help to get back home. But she found herself replaying her time with him in her head, wondering if she had imagined his attentions earlier, or more likely as she suspected, perhaps he didn't take them as seriously as she did. That had to be a good thing, right?

Emma rolled over and punched her moss-filled pillow in aggravation. Then she punched it again, and again. It felt good to hit something, even if it was pointless, her pent-up frustration finally finding an outlet, albeit a small one. Tiny clouds of dust mushroomed upward with every blow, and the seams of the pillow began to bulge under her pounding fist. She stopped before she destroyed it, then fell onto her back again, blowing the hair out of her face, her hands fisting at her sides.

It had been almost a week since she'd disappeared, and she wondered what her family was doing to try and find her. She had no way to contact them, no way to let them know she was fine. Her eyes began to fill with tears, and even though she tried to brush them away, they wouldn't be dismissed, and she found herself crying again for the second time in twenty-four hours, homesickness getting the better of her. All she wanted was to bury her head in Killian's neck and breathe his clean scent, to feel his arms wrap securely around her in safety and reassurance. She wanted to hold Henry and tell him how much she loved him and how proud she was of him, to have a real conversation with her mother and father and to rock her tiny brother.

She had to get back home, she had to. And once she did, she'd hang onto Killian and never let him go.

Drying her eyes with a new determination, Emma sat up and changed into the sleeveless tunic she had seen the fairies wear for swimming. Thinking that a few laps would clear her head, she made her way out into the bright sunshine.

====o0I0o====

After Garnet had reluctantly left to attend one of her classes, Killian finished copying the map, having been extremely careful with the intricate paths that seemed to turn back on themselves several times before culminating in the seer's supposed location. He felt a little nervous undertaking the next part of the journey; the seer lived in a part of the forest with which he was unfamiliar. He could ask around in town for details about the area, hopefully finding out who lived there to see if he recognized any names. As far as he knew, there were no major towns or villages, the area never having been developed.

His work done, he thought he'd go and find Emma. She had seemed flustered when she'd walked in on his conversation with the red fairy, and he wondered if—or hoped?—she had been envious. Killian was not in the least bit interested in the red-headed fairy, but if allowing the fairy's attentions gained him a little more of Emma's notice, then he was happy to oblige. Garnet reminded him of Milah in a way, although without the cynicism and biting tongue that characterized the farmer's wife. The fairy was pretty but young, and Killian preferred a woman with a bit of experience to fuel her internal fire.

Emma blazed like an inferno, and yet she could be as cold as she was hot—one minute allowing him to comfort her, laughing at his stories, her smoky eyes dilating with desire—the next minute pushing him away, shutting him out, closing off her expression and her body. He knew she was worried about changing history, but she seemed rather devoted to her husband to resist his attentions like she had. Many a married woman would have succumbed to far less where he was concerned.

He stepped out into the waning light as dusk began to settle over the conclave. The dinner bell tolled loudly across the clearing and all the fairies stopped what they were doing and hurried to line up once again near the hut where the food was served.

He let his eyes scan the crowd until they rested on Emma, her graceful blonde head drawing his gaze like a sailor to the sea. She was standing in line smiling happily at a yellow-clad fairy and Violet, who seemed to have recovered from her run-in with the white fairy. He couldn't help but smile at Emma's easy expression and simultaneously wish she would let her guard down like that around him.

Emma turned her head as if sensing his eyes on her, capturing him with a wary gaze, her smile faltering as she watched him cross the clearing to stand at the back of the queue, only a few stragglers coming into place behind him. He didn't want to interrupt her conversation, and of course it would be bad form to cut in line.

After gathering his plate and thanking the cheerful fairy who served him, he stepped back outside where everyone had gathered to eat in small groups, sitting on the soft grass. Tinkling conversations echoed all around, and Killian searched for Emma and her two companions. He found them sitting near the pool, still talking animatedly, Emma's back to him.

He meant to traverse over to her, but was stopped by a delicate hand on his arm. Garnet stood next to him, her plate in her hand. "Care to join me, Killian?" she asked with a toss of her red mane.

"Of course, milady." Markedly hiding his disappointment at sharing his meal with Garnet rather than Emma, he inclined his head slightly and followed her to a spot near one of the huts, contentedly noting that he'd at least have a clear view of Emma's profile.

.

.

Emma was listening to Violet tell stories about how many different ways she had gotten in trouble with Mother Pearl, always on probation for something or other. Violet didn't intentionally seek out trouble, but trouble seemed to find her.

Stilling with awareness, Emma caught Jones out of the corner of her eye casually following Garnet to a spot near one of the huts. The red fairy sat down daintily on one of the small steps, Jones settling at her feet. He seemed to be enjoying himself, talking in between bites, Garnet's expression rapt on whatever he was saying.

Emma watched him chuckle at something the fairy said, and he raised his head from his plate. His blue eyes met her green in an electric current that sparked across the expanse, stripping her of any determination to keep him at arms length. His smile dropped, face serious and intent, his hand poised above his plate in mid-bite, frozen in time. _I want you_. She could read the words in his steady gaze as sure as if he'd whispered them in her ear. The conversations, the fairies, even the lodge itself all faded away, those three tiny words echoing loudly through the still air.

Even if she would have had nerves of steel, which she did under most circumstances, she wouldn't have been able to stop the flush that crept up her body, slowly, painfully, the heat of his penetrating stare reading everything she wished she could hide. Her willpower always failed her when it came to him. He could reduce her to putty with a word or with a look; he'd always been able to.

She quickly turned away from him, angling her body toward her small circle of friends, attempting to break the powerful allure he had on her, trying to keep focused on whatever it was Daisy was now saying, and failing miserably.

Although she didn't raise her head in his direction again, she felt prickles dance across her skin every time his trenchant gaze settled on her.

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	7. Answers

**Hi guys, it looks like weekly updates for awhile until life settles down a bit. Thanks for sticking with me!**

**Beta-read by the ingenious Revenessa!**

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Chapter 7: Answers

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Emma kept her head bent in the water, turning to the side when she needed a breath, her arms lifting and falling in the rhythmic pace that marked her freestyle stroke. It had always been her favorite—besides being a good workout, the sound of her arms lightly tapping the water and the gentle pop of the waves around her ears created a small cocoon that blocked out the rest of the world and allowed Emma to calm her mind and retreat from over-stimulation.

That's what she felt. Over-stimulated. Jones brought up so many feelings, longing being the most prominent one, especially when he was being charming or funny, or when attending to her needs. She had stopped herself from falling in his arms more times than she could count. But at least she had stopped herself. It was easiest if she thought of him as a different person altogether, sharing her husband's face like a twin. But a twin usually had a different personality, so when her guard was down, she'd forget she wasn't talking to _her_ Killian. She hadn't been very good at keeping them separated before, but she hoped that was only because of fatigue, from which she was finally recovering.

_Slap_… _Slap.._. _Slap_. Her arms kept working, her head turning to the side for a breath every two strokes instead of four as she became winded.

Her gnawing hunger had finally been sated by an extra portion at dinner that evening, which had started out in delightful conversation, until she had noticed Jones with Garnet. Her new friends Violet and Daisy had sensed the change in her mood and she thought she saw them exchange a knowing glance, hoping they hadn't thought her sudden quietness was because of anything they'd said. They had left her to herself when the meal was over, but she'd find them to apologize before she left in the morning.

Rolling to her back to catch her breath, she continued doing laps in a lazy backstroke, watching as the stars peeked out one by one in the patterns that marked their celestial dance, the beautiful night unfolding all around her. The feel of the warm water as it caressed her skin wiped away the last traces of worry about Jones's dalliance and lessened the sting of her homesickness.

Emma found sleep easily that night.

====o0I0o====

Sometime when the moon was at its zenith, the light streaming through the tiny window above her bed, Emma awakened abruptly to the sound of the door scraping across the floor. She sat up quickly, her eyes trained on the source of the sound.

Her mouth opened in surprise as the white fairy glided in, her silver hair floating gently around her shoulders. Mother Pearl spoke quietly, "Good, you're up. Come with me."

_I am now_, Emma thought acerbically, but there was no room for argument, so Emma put on the leather-like slippers she'd been given with her clothing before following the small woman out the door.

"Where are we going?" Emma asked after the scampering fairy, amazed at how agile she moved despite her age.

Mother Pearl didn't answer, but led her into the forest beyond the huts, the breath-taking scenery glistening in the moonlight. Tiny creatures scampered here and there; the forest felt alive, each pore striving for notice and recognition from the two women who walked along its paths.

Pearl led them around the back of the cathedral-like building they'd been in before, entering through a back door into a tiny room barely big enough for four people, and Emma had to duck her head to keep from hitting it on the casing. When Pearl closed the door behind her, a momentary feeling of claustrophobia seized Emma's mind.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, trying not to let the feeling of panic seep into her question.

The white fairy must have heard it anyway, since she responded, "I mean you no harm, Miss Swan. I'm merely looking for answers."

Emma studied the small woman for a long moment; the fairy was telling the truth. Relaxing just a little, Emma looked around the tiny room. In the middle of the floor sat a wide crystal basin flanked by two lighted pillar candles. In two of the four corners sat small braziers containing a couple of pieces of charcoal each. There were no windows; the candles provided the only light. Pearl sat down on one side of the basin and motioned for Emma to sit across from her.

The basin was filled with water, a thin band of surface tension keeping it from spilling over the edge. The crystal and the water faded into one in the low light, giving it the appearance of a strangely shaped bubble floating above the floor. Pearl pulled some herbs out of a small satchel at her side and placed a handful each in the two braziers behind her, lighting the charcoal with one of the candles. A pungent odor unfamiliar to Emma soon encased the tiny room, the fumes strong enough to make her head spin, as though she'd been out drinking all night.

The white fairy's gray eyes stared into Emma's for a long moment before she spoke. "Stare into the water, Miss Swan. Try to clear your mind."

Emma peered into the water as she was told and found it hard to think clearly at all, wondering briefly what she was doing there. Other thoughts swirled and darted, but none demanded her attention, winking in and out of consciousness without rhyme or reason.

Mother Pearl began chanting, a low tone issuing out of her mouth in a constant stream of sound that echoed off the walls, curling in and around Emma's thoughts, the mantra and her mind twining into a single thread of simple awareness. The candlelight cast eerie shadows on the wall and low ceiling, giving the room an underwater feel, and she felt as though she were encapsulated in an air bubble, floating in an endless sea of thought and muffled sound.

"Who are you?" the fairy asked loudly and sternly.

"Emma Swan Jones," some part of her answered, although she felt very strangely detached.

"Why are you here?"

"To find my way back home."

"Who are you?" louder this time.

"An orphan. A mother. A wife."

"Who sent you?"

"I don't know."

"What is your intention regarding the current timeline?"

"To preserve it."

Mother Pearl stood abruptly, throwing open the door. A gentle breeze swept through the room, clearing the fumes still pouring from the herbs in the braziers. She offered Emma her hand, pulling her up with an ease that belied her years and leading her outside before speaking. Emma took several gulps of the fresh air and her mind began to clear.

"I am satisfied that your intentions are true. I will provide you with a couple of items before you leave here." The fairy walked around to another door, leading Emma into her office before going over to a small basket sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. She pulled out a knife and a translucent rock about the size of a silver dollar.

She handed Emma the compact little knife first. "The blade is made from the tooth of a vile creature known as a Balgienit. No substance in existence is sharper." Emma pulled the knife out of its sheath, noting the comfortable weight of it in her hand. It was shaped like a two-edged dagger, mostly cream colored with a few brown spots, and it did in fact resemble an actual tooth. The edges looked as wicked as razors, and Emma shuddered to think of the damage it could do.

"Do not lose it. You will need to keep it with you if you are going to be successful in your quest to unlock the door of time."

"What do you mean, 'unlock the door of time'?" Emma said gruffly, her voice still affected by the smoke from the herbs.

"You will know when you need to. The seer can set you on your quest, but there are several of us who guard the path of time. It is as powerful as magic, and can be misused just as easily." Her gray gaze settled over Emma pointedly, and Emma wondered what she thought Emma could possibly do to misuse time.

Mother Pearl placed the cool stone in Emma's palm. "This is a precious opal. If you offer it to the seer, she will know you have my blessing and will allow you entrance. Without it, she will turn you away, and your quest is lost."

The smooth stone sat in her hand with a substantial weight that was incongruous to its size. It was the color of the moon with veins of cerulean and amber forging glittering paths through the cool hardness. Emma realized then that if she hadn't answered Mother Pearl's questions to her satisfaction, Emma would be stuck in this time for the rest of her life. A part of her was furious that the fairy would have let them leave with only a map and no way to succeed, and another part of her was grateful that her own intentions were pure.

Emma held up the knife and smooth stone in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Mother."

The white fairy covered Emma's hands with her own, the skin as warm and soft as any grandmother's, her gray gaze settling over Emma sincerely for the first time since she'd met the formidable Mother Pearl. "Go, child. And may time be on your side." There was a gentle urgency in her words.

Emma nearly smiled at the cliché, but didn't when she saw the seriousness of the elderly woman's expression, a shiver shimmying down her spine instead.

Perhaps the blessing wasn't amiss.

====o0I0o====

The next morning, after several cheerful goodbyes, Killian and Emma made their way back out of the forest along the same path they had come in, the trip taking about half as much time, Killian duly though gratefully noted. Emma had kept quiet the entire trip. Every time he tried to strike up a conversation, she gave one word answers until he had finally given up and left her alone with her thoughts. He had heard her door open the night before, and a few words exchanged, but by the time he had gone to his own door to peer out, Emma's was closed again and he could only assume she had gone back to sleep. He had questioned her about it, but she said nothing had happened, although it was obvious to him that something had.

The last time they had actually spoken more than a couple of words to each other was before their meeting with the White Fairy, and whether Emma would admit it or not, he knew that his time spent with Garnet had affected her in at least some small way. That knowledge sent a ping of satisfaction bouncing through him like a flat pebble dancing across the surface of a still pond, and he had allowed that satisfied bounce to lighten his step throughout a good portion of their hike.

Having finally reached the outskirts of the town square, Killian stopped Emma with a hand on her elbow, hoping to break her from her reverie. "You'll want another change of clothes for the journey… not that I mind what you're wearing, lass." He let one corner of his mouth raise into a half-smirk and let his eyes travel over her thin linen tunic, hoping to needle a smile out of her.

She looked up at him with a confused expression, and he could tell she hadn't fully registered what he'd said. Touching her arm lightly, he asked, "Might you consider leather? It would be more protective in case we encounter anything…" He trailed off, letting his eyes drift back to the path they'd just left. He loved a sexy lass decked out in leather, but he'd keep that to himself, using their quest as an excuse, in case Swan went all cold and rigid on him again.

Distracted but catching his meaning, she said, "Oh. Right. Clothes… Uh, I don't have anymore money." She kept her eyes on the busy square, interestedly watching several of the different peddlers hawk their wares from their carts.

"Come with me." He moved his hand to her lower back and led her to a small shop along one edge of the main square. People were everywhere, milling about, busy going in and out of shops, carrying baskets, chatting with neighbors. They passed a cart filled with chickens and a few goats tied to the side of it, her nose wrinkling at the thick smell of the animals. He glanced at her, a ready quip on his tongue, but restrained himself when he saw her quizzical and almost dazed expression. Looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, he could clearly recognize that she didn't belong there, or _then_ as the case seemed to be.

They walked in the door of the familiar shop and he greeted the owner. "Greetings, Master Casey. We require your assistance this fine day." Smiling easily, he shook the honest owner's hand.

"Ah, Mr. Jones. Nice to see you again. And who is the lovely lady in attendance?" Casey's trained eye traveled over Emma, Killian noticing how the portly man started in surprise at her exceptional beauty.

"Mr. Casey, may I present Miss Swan." Killian gently nudged her forward.

She offered her hand to Casey and smiled pleasantly at him. "I need to purchase some clothing." Then cutting her eyes to Killian, her smile altered to include a hint of mischief. "Leather."

Killian's wide grin answered hers in kind, and he winked at her knowing look, peculiarly excited to see her dressed in his favorite type of clothing.

"Right this way, Miss." Casey turned and walked toward the back of the small shop, Emma following closely behind.

Killian glanced around for a moment, trying to decide if he needed anything else while he was there, when he caught sight of a familiar head poking in through the open shop door before abruptly turning back toward the crowds.

"I'll be right back," he said loudly before following the retreating figure.

.

.

Emma had been amazed at the number of goods in the shop when they had walked in. There were pots and pans and various house-wares, clothes, shoes, knives, furniture. _Everything but the kitchen sink_, Emma thought dryly, but only because plumbing hadn't been invented yet.

Mr. Casey was sifting through a large stack of leather pants at the moment, while Emma thumbed through different items, not recognizing several of them.

"What kind of shop is this?" she asked, wondering how he came by so many different things.

"Resale," he answered simply. "Ah, here we are. I think these will do." He pulled a pair out of the stack and handed them to her.

The brown leather was worn in spots, but thick and serviceable. And Jones was right; these would offer more protection from the elements than even her favorite blue jeans.

Mr. Casey continued through another stack, this time of white shirts and then vests. He handed them both to Emma. "Would you like to try them on first?"

"I suppose, thank you."

He led her to a small curtain nailed to the ceiling that concealed one corner of the shop. She pulled it back and tried on the leather pants, surprised at how well he had judged her size. They were incredibly soft to the touch with tiny lines forming creases, and although somewhat snug, they stretched with her body when she bent into a squat to make sure she'd have plenty of room to move in them. The shirt was open at the neck and billowy, but the long fitted vest held the smooth cloth against her skin, leaving only her sleeves looking voluminous. _Killian would just love this!_ She allowed a large grin to animate her face at the thought of his reaction before a pang of sorrow knifed through her heart. She'd worn his pirate outfit before to satisfy his own fantasies, but his was always a little big, not that he had minded his own shirt falling off her shoulders. She swallowed thickly as a wave of loneliness washed over her.

She dressed back in the loose linen breeches and tunic, handing the clothing back to Mr. Casey. "I think these will do fine." She walked over to the door to see if she could find Jones. What she saw made her heart skip a beat.

.

.

Killian stepped out into the square, leaving Emma to her shopping, the sun having withdrawn behind a bank of clouds and washing everything in drab tones of gray. He walked to the edge of the building and was roughly pulled into a tiny alleyway separating the close structures, and then into the very soft and willing arms of Milah.

"I missed you," she breathed into his neck.

"Did you now?" He pulled back from her embrace, cautiously glancing from left to right to make sure Emma hadn't followed him, before looking down into her desire-filled dark eyes.

She frowned in disappointment and then narrowed her eyes slightly, smiling impishly. "That's a nice look. What'd you do, rob a peasant?"

He cocked a brow at her and shot back, "Well, you know, the life of a pirate can be so dreary. I thought I'd try your lot on for size."

She widened her eyes at the barb and then canted back in challenge, "And how's that working out?"

He lowered his voice, husky with pent-up desire—desire that wasn't for Milah, but at least she wanted him. "So far it's gained me the attentions of a certain dark-haired beauty," he flirted, gazing at her underneath his lashes.

"Has it now?" She raised up on her toes, pressing her yielding curves along the length of his body, his loose linen clothing offering no buffer between them.

"You tell me." His body responded accordingly with a flush of heat, and he dipped his head to capture her mouth.

She pulled back from him, anger instantly coloring her skin, her expression resembling a caged cat. "You tell me what you're doing with that woman," she said sharply, and pointed back toward the shop where he'd left Emma.

He stepped away from her, the air cooling the space between them that moments before had been charged with heat and desire. He shrugged. "Spying on me? Jealousy becomes you, darling."

She placed both hands on his chest and gave him a shove before stalking back toward the throngs of people.

Quickly catching up to her, he grabbed her arm to stop her retreat, turning her toward him in a fluid motion. "What has you so riled? You know who and what I am," he asked her in an almost mocking tone.

Her gaze fell to her feet and her anger metamorphosed into doubt. Voice lowering, she asked, "So this… you and I… this isn't something special to you? Something different?"

He shrugged, not really wanting to engage this conversation at present, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking. "It's amusing."

She stamped her foot and jutted her chin forward, and he could see desire and frustration, longing and resentment stalk across her features single-file, as bold as soldiers on their way to battle. "Damn you, Killian Jones," she said in a rough whisper not quite loud enough to draw attention to them.

"You know you love it." He nodded at her once, challenging her, baiting her, his stance clearly demanding: _Am I who you want? or are you just looking for a way out?_

He didn't get an answer. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers, threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He loved the way she kissed—it was pure passion, raw and feral. She put everything she had, everything she wanted to run from into her soft wet kisses, as though her spirit was slowly dying and he was her only link to life. Breathless, he leaned his forehead against hers, and then remembered where they were. He removed her hands from the back of his neck and put some space between them.

"When can I see you?" she asked, chest heaving as she caught her breath.

He paused, inhaling deeply and taking his time before answering. "I'm not sure. The woman you saw hired me to assist her in getting to another realm." He looked toward the shop and saw Emma standing in the doorway, a pained look pinching her features. His gaze locked on the lass's stormy green eyes, watching him with yearning and… lust, he'd recognize lust anywhere. Startled by the heat in the eye contact, he lifted his brows in surprise, his lips quirking in hopeful anticipation.

He glanced back to Milah and saw her staring at Emma, dark eyes narrowed, chin down like a bull ready to charge. Milah definitely considered Emma a foe. And Emma? Emma was now regarding the black haired woman with a certain morbid curiosity. Killian suddenly found himself wishing he was anywhere but there.

Milah pointedly grabbed him by the loose collar of his shirt and kissed him again, cold and calculating, and he knew without a doubt that she was staking a claim on him for Emma's enlightenment. She broke the kiss and said breathily, "I have to get back to Rumple. Find me when you're done with _her_." She inclined her head toward the shop door with a pretty toss of her long tresses, not bothering to look in Emma's direction.

"Alright then, off with you, love." He swatted her bottom as she departed, and she smiled coyly over her shoulder. He watched the strong line of her back as she glided across the cobblestones, attempting to tease him with every step.

This time though, the sway of her hips didn't affect him nearly as strongly as it usually did.

* * *

**Review?**


	8. The Jolly Roger

**Beta-read by the thoughtful Revenessa. Thank you all so much for reading-I'm blown away by the number of followers. ;D**

* * *

Chapter 8: The Jolly Roger

* * *

Emma leaned against the railing of the Jolly Roger, allowing the bustling harbor sounds to dissolve in her ears, arms resting comfortably as she gazed out over the water and horizon, like she'd done countless times with _her_ Killian. They had spent many evenings after a light supper watching the sunset from that same rail, his body pressed up against her back, arms locked around her waist, lending her his warmth while they admired the majesty of colors that played across the sky in variations of red, gold and purple, no question in either of their minds as to why those were the colors of kings. The sunset over this ocean was no different from her own back in Maine, the familiarity of it offering some kind of consolation to the roiling emotions threatening her resolve.

As soon as they had arrived at his ship, Jones had gone straightaway into pirate captain mode, introducing Emma briefly to the crew before bustling and ordering them about, leaving her to herself. He was so confident and self-assured, a true sailor at heart; she could see his love for his work in every stride across the deck, in every order he gave the crew. She envied him. He knew who he was and where he belonged; it had taken her until she was nearly thirty to find that.

Emma hadn't shared her midnight meeting with the white fairy with Jones yet. For the most part, she'd been avoiding him, her emotions still raw from her conflicted reactions to him, one minute successfully keeping herself detached, the next falling in love with him all over again. It was exhausting having to keep herself on guard all the time.

And Milah. Killian had never told her much about the dark-haired beauty whose shapely figure had barely been concealed beneath her drab dress. They never had those kinds of conversations, about past loves, and she had to admit she was extremely curious about the woman who had incited her man to such a passion that he would devote three hundred years of his life to revenge.

Yes, Milah must be very special indeed. Emma had witnessed their kiss, unable to tear her eyes away from the torturous moment holding her captive like an insect caught in amber, trapped by an acute mix of grim interest and unabashed jealousy. She shouldn't be angry with him for following his own storyline, but some small part of her was. Some part of her wanted to claw the other woman's eyes out and stake her own claim on her handsome pirate, turning him in an instant with true love's kiss, even if she was three hundred years too early, even if he wasn't hers yet, to hell with history.

Emma touched her cheek, feeling his beard scrape along her own face the same way his cheek had brushed across Milah's, lust for his touch springing up like new growth on plants who find themselves suddenly thrust in the sunshine after months of indirect light. When he loved, it was possession, body and soul, and seeing him with Milah had been no less agonizing than enduring the fairies' defense lines.

And those eyes. Milah's smoldering eyes had glared at Emma with knowing and passion and a clear message that said, _hands off_. Milah must be quite possessive as well, a good thing considering the role she had to play in his life. Emma had every intention of keeping her hands off Jones, and in her weak moments, she'd only have to conjure an image of those insolent and confrontational eyes.

When the sun had finished it's descent in the sky, Emma made her way to the captain's cabin to find Jones, finally in control of her emotions and ready to face him. She tentatively knocked at his open door.

He had already changed into his favorite leather pants and blousy shirt, and was sitting at his cluttered table, covered in papers and maps, rubbing the back of his neck and going over some kind of list with Mr. Smee. She was surprised to see how little his cabin had changed in all those years. It was still impeccably clean and neat, his brother's sextant and compass were still proudly displayed on the same shelf; the only real difference was that in the future, other small acquisitions from his travels would be added to his shelves, but other than that, the room felt like home, and him. She breathed a sigh of resignation and intentionally pushed the thoughts of all that had occurred in that cabin from her mind, tamping them down firmly the way a child buries a box he doesn't intend to resurrect for years.

"Ah, Swan, we could use the interruption. Please, come in." He glanced back at Smee, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Mr. Smee gave her a nervous smile as he left the room, his red hat clutched between his hands.

"We need to talk," she said seriously.

A smirk threatened the corners of his mouth and his eyes glinted with humor. "Ill-favored words out of a woman's mouth. Generally try to avoid them as often as possible. But seeing as you and I are colleagues, I guess you're right. We do need to talk." He gestured to the edge of his bed, the only other available seating in the tidy cabin.

He was teasing her; she had seen the obvious pleasure that flashed across his face when she had entered, giving his beautiful blue eyes a boyish cast. "Last night I met with Mother Pearl."

He raised one brow in interest, nodding in understanding. "Indeed. And what did the menacing sprite have to say?" He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his middle, stretching his legs out and crossing his feet at the ankles to get comfortable.

"She drugged me and asked me who I was." He bolted in surprise from his relaxed posture, leaning forward abruptly, body stilling and all ears on what she was about to say. "I had no choice but to tell her the truth, and she must have been satisfied because she gave me these." She held out the dagger and the opal for his inspection.

He eyed her narrowly as though assuring himself that she was alright, then took the items, turning the polished stone in every direction as he studied it. "This is worth a small fortune. Did she tell you what it was for?" He shook his head and a wry smile crossed his face.

"Only that I was to give it to the seer if I wanted her to allow me entrance to my quest."

"Hmmm… And the dagger?" His brows raised in question.

"That it's made from the tooth of some kind of beast and is the sharpest material in existence. She said I'd need to keep it with me at all times if I wanted to be successful."

He pulled the dagger out of its sheath, running his finger expertly over the blade. "That's a wicked edge. Be a handy little tool in a knife fight." He paused a moment, thinking. "I wonder what she would have done if you'd told her something she hadn't wanted to hear?"

"I don't know, but the thought crossed my mind. I would have hated to make it all the way to the seer only to be turned away because I didn't have the appropriate payment." She could see that he had come to the same conclusion when his features darkened perceptibly.

He handed the items back to her. "Keep these safe, lass. You'll be living with a bunch of pirates for the next couple of days. And although I can vouch for the honesty of Mr. Smee and Jamison since I've known them longest, I can't be entirely sure about the rest. No one would intentionally harm you on this ship, but I wouldn't put them to the test of having to restrain themselves from such a tasty morsel."

His eyes held hers for a long moment, intense and searching. He wasn't only talking about the opal, and she smiled in understanding. "Got it."

He nodded once. "How do you like your accommodations?"

Emma had been given Mr. Smee's quarters for the duration of her stay, grateful to have a room to herself, knowing she couldn't handle staying with Jones, even if they did have separate beds. Smee's room was smaller than the captain's, but neat and tidy as expected. Killian never tolerated a mess on his ship.

"They're fine, thank you. I appreciate not having to bunk with the rest of the crew." She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of sharing a room with twenty unwashed men.

"A beautiful lass like you? I don't think they could handle it." His eyes held mischief and the assurance that he could in fact _handle it, _and would love nothing more than the opportunity. Her heartbeat quickened as she held his spirited gaze for a moment before unwillingly tearing her eyes from his, remembering their words to each other just before their first very passionate kiss.

Staring at the floorboards, she saw him stand out of the corner of her eye. "Come then, we'll go and see what Jamison has prepared for supper."

He stepped back so she could lead the way, placing his hand on her lower back like he had so many times before, the comfortable weight speaking of the all-encompassing possession only he was capable of.

====o0I0o====

Killian and Emma sat down to a wonderful meal prepared by Jamison, the chief cook. Mr. Smee and Jamison had both joined their small table, sharing the meal in friendly conversation, while the rest of the crew enjoyed their last night on shore before they set sail at dawn the following morning.

Jamison had prepared spicy meat pasties with a delicate buttery crust served alongside a mug of ale. Emma found it filling and delicious, especially after the lighter fare of the fairies.

Of all the crew she'd met so far, Jamison was her favorite. He reminded her of an older version of David, not only in stature with his blond hair and light blue eyes, but also with his stoic and protective demeanor. He wore a long mustache that drooped on either side of his mouth, giving him the look of a western cowboy more than a pirate. He had a mild Scottish accent that commanded respect as sure as Jones did, and Emma found herself instantly at ease with him.

"So how'd you meet our captain, Miss Swan?" Mr. Smee asked over his mug, small eyes intent with curiosity.

"I met him in the tavern and hired him to help me get back to my realm." She was resting her forearms on the table and took another sip of ale, enjoying the warmth spreading through her limbs as the alcohol slid down her throat. The informal meal and the relaxed conversation eased the restraint she usually exercised when conversing with new people.

"Oh, from another realm are ye?" Jamison inquired. Both his brows edged up toward his receding hairline, interested. "Which one?"

Emma had already decided not to tell anyone about being from the future. She cut her eyes to Jones, who smiled reassuringly, letting her know with just a glance that the older man was trustworthy. "The land without magic."

Jamison studied her a moment, rubbing his chin. "Didna know such a place existed. Och weel, the cap'n here is sure to find a way to get ye home. Not to worrit, lass." He patted her hand companionably, his confidence in Jones bolstering her own, and the vibrating burr of his accent drew a smile from her.

Placing both hands on the table, Emma said, "Alright, guys, I have a question." Emma had been waiting for an opportune time to ask this one since the day after she'd met Jones, when she realized she'd be able to pick his brain for all the memories her husband had either forgotten or had chosen to omit.

Three pairs of inquisitive eyes turned on her, leaving Emma feeling self-conscious and nearly ridiculous for the question she was about to ask.

"So… what kind of pirates are you?" Her question was met with blank stares all around, so she clarified, "I mean, what kind of jobs…er… activities… do you do?"

Emma had wondered forever what Killian actually did at that time in his life. He was a good storyteller, able to invent what he couldn't remember, but his stories didn't include particulars about his line of work, and he always appeared a little embarrassed about his past, so she hadn't pressed him. She had learned to accept him as he was, to see him as the man he wanted to be. But something about Jones made her think that he wasn't the villain _her_ Killian had always alluded to.

The three men looked back and forth at each other for a moment, Jones leaning back in his chair comfortably and taking a sip of his ale before answering, "We steal from those who are rich enough not to notice the loss of their small fortunes, or from those who acquire their wealth by cheating others."

Her eyes widened in surprise, taking in his candid expression. "That's noble of you."

He chuckled sarcastically. "Noble would be to return some of the money to those who were cheated out of it. I'm not so good as that." He scratched at his ear, the endearing gesture indicating he was uncomfortable. "We also do a bit of smuggling here and there… for a price of course." He smirked at her, regaining his composure.

She loved how quickly he could go from flustered to confident in the blink of an eye. "What kinds of items?"

"Mostly liquor and weapons between the kingdoms, no slaves, and no coastal villages. Mainly, it's all about being in the right place at the right time, and making sure our reputation precedes us." He waggled his brows at Emma, and she could just imagine the type of reputation he was referring to.

"Cap'n, let me tell 'er about the time at King John's ball, remember?"

Killian smiled and nodded his head, resting his arm on the table as he continued sipping his ale. Emma grinned back at him, all ears, intent on learning whatever she could about her true love.

"Cap'n here had quite the stash of various royal navy uniforms, havin' acquired 'em in raids here and there. He'd put on the uniform of one of the neighborin' kingdoms and attend a ball, dressed all prim and pressed like royalty. He'd tell the lassies he was the nephew of Aunt Mathilda, who no one ever seemed to know or care to know especially once they'd seen his purty face. All they wanted was a dance with the dashin' seaman. They had no idea he had ev'ry intention of robbin' 'em blind. They wouldna even realize he was the one who'd stolen their jewels, so enchanted by his charm." Jamison fluttered his eyelashes and waved a handkerchief in front of his mouth, imitating the snickering of said ladies.

Killian chuffed, and Emma caught him watching her beneath his lashes, eyes alight with playfulness at the memory.

"Weel, one day he went to a ball in honor of King John's eldest daughter. She must've watched the cap'n for a long time before finally makin' her way ov'r to him. He of course had to ask her to dance, else risk royal ire. I was a ways off, keepin' a careful eye for when he'd need to make his retreat, or at the very least hand off the bejeweled necklace sittin' in his pocket, when I saw 'em leave the dance floor and take the air on one of the open terraces. Not five minutes la'er, we hear her screaming 'Guards!' at the top of her lungs. The music stopped and silence filled the ballroom, the guards bumblin' from their stations, runnin' out of the room as fast as their drunken legs could manage," he lowered his voice and winked conspiratorially, "everyone knows the guards sip at the ceremonial wine on those nights. That was our cue to leave, quiet like, and meet the cap'n back at the ship. We pulled anchor and lit out of there before the guards even knew which direction to run."

"What happened?" She looked to Killian who lowered his head in mirth, but had enough control over himself to answer the question.

"She propositioned me! The minx cuddled up close to my ear, pulled the necklace out of my pocket and boldly told me that I could meet her back in her chambers and claim her maidenhead before her hastily arranged marriage, or she'd call the guards. I may not have had a woman in a while, but I wasn't that desperate. Better to risk a hand than my manhood." He raised his eyebrows at Emma and held up both hands while looking down to indicate all parts were indeed intact.

The small room echoed the sound of their laughter and Emma gave a sidelong glance at her pirate, unable to curb the pleasure that washed over her at the thought of Killian possibly having less experience with women than he often insinuated.

A comfortable silence descended over everyone.

Finishing off her ale with a tilt of her head, Emma stood. "Well, fellas, I'm off for the night. Thanks for the delightful evening." She touched Jamison on the hand again. "And for the delicious supper." He grinned widely and patted her arm lightly with his other hand and she left the table to a chorus of "G'night, lass".

.

.

Killian watched her leave, wishing with all his heart that his hand had been the last she'd touched before bed. Smee followed soon after, leaving Jamison to refill both their mugs and settle in for a conversation like they had on many a night. Jamison had been the cook on the Jolly Roger since Liam, and his stable presence had kept Killian sane on a number of occasions when grief would have driven him mad.

"So, Jamison, I can see something's on your mind. Pray tell what it is." Killian took another sip of his ale, watching his friend with curiosity, the only sound the creaking of the wood as the ship floated in the harbor.

Jamison paused a moment, fixing Killian with a pragmatic stare. "She's lovely, sir. By far my favorite."

Killian liked that Jamison was always honest, regardless of the fact that Killian was his superior. "Favorite? Why that's a high honor coming from you. You generally dislike women, or so I thought," he snickered.

"Not so, Cap'n; only the ones you seem to attract. But she's a rare one indeed. Make a good wife, I daresay." Jamison was struggling to keep his face blank, and he couldn't hide the amusement in his clear blue eyes nor keep his mustache from twitching.

Killian nearly spit out his last sip of ale. "Wife? Who said anything about a wife?"

"Well, ye can't be piratin' forever, sir. Best to find you a little lassie and settle down somewhere, have a couple of bairns, live an honest life, or at least more of one. The smugglin' I think is the least dangerous of your occupations tha'd support a woman." His eyes looked away, fingers smoothing his long mustache, as though he were trying to come up with suitable jobs for an ex-pirate.

Killian rubbed the back of his neck, the thought of a life with Miss Swan had crossed his mind more than once if he were honest. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd encourage a different line of work." Jamison had been one of his biggest supporters when he'd taken over the ship after Liam's death. He'd helped Killian keep the men in line when they'd threatened mutiny more than once.

"It's only that I want to see ye happy. And I can see how ye look at the lass, and how she looks at you," he said pointedly.

Killian perked up at that bit of information. "I was hoping that wasn't wishful thinking on my part."

"Och, no. The lassie is definitely interested." He smiled knowingly, burying a large grin in his mug.

"Is that so?" Killian said almost to himself, sitting back a little and resting his arm on the back of his chair as he thought about Emma's beautiful green eyes—eyes that held interest and longing, courage and intelligence, eyes that promised mischief and fun…

"Aye… And you cap'n? Might ye be interested in somethin' more… permanent?"

He didn't answer right away, and when he did, it was almost inaudible. "I might." He looked in the direction of the first mate's cabin, knowing full well that their quest could fail and Swan… Emma… would be left here in his time for the rest of their lives. He stood up and wished his old friend a good night, who gave him a reassuring nod in return before tending to the clean-up.

====o0I0o====

Emma had just been about to slip off the loose linen pants and snuggle into the cloth hammock when she heard a soft knock at the door. It had to be Jones. "Yes?"

"Just checking to see that you have everything you need," he said through the paneled door.

She rose and partially opened the door, actively attempting to keep her wits about her when she saw him. His hair was mussed; he must've run his fingers through it, giving him a rakish and altogether wanton look. Schooling her expression, she said professionally, "I do. Thanks for your concern."

"If you think of anything, you know where I'll be." His voice sounded almost gruff, and he ducked his head as if to leave, his blue eyes dark and intense in the low light of the passageway, the intimate camaraderie of the meal still present between them.

A lock of hair fell over one eye and she longed to reach up and brush it away. "Do you have any idea how long we'll be at sea?" She was still holding on to the door, everything in her aching to drag him into the cabin, to spend the next few hours familiarizing herself with the differences between his body now and his body in the future.

He leaned against the door frame, resting one of his hands above his head. The movement tightened his shirt across his shoulders and gave her an even better view of his bared chest through the open neckline.

"Our trip shouldn't be a long one, a couple of days at most, and then you'll have me all to yourself, Swan." He smirked playfully and edged himself closer to her, the heat radiating from him causing her breath to catch.

"Yeah, I bet you'd like nothing more," she said in a throaty whisper, trying not to stare at his full mouth.

His grin widened and he watched her closely, his voice thick and low and his breath shallower than a moment before. "Know so much about what I like, love? Can't wait to test that theory." His words held anticipation, blue eyes drifting lazily to her mouth.

Her heart skipped a beat at the barely concealed invitation—she wasn't the only one who was an open book—and she again found herself fighting the urge to grab the edges of his shirt and pull him into her.

_What am I doing?_ She had to stop this before it went any further. She inhaled deeply with the intent to clear her head, but her voice betrayed her with its husky tone. "Goodnight, Captain Jones."

She slowly closed the door, forcing him to move backward into the passageway, then leaned her forehead against the door, the cool wood soothing her flushed face, and heard a very quiet, "Goodnight, Miss Swan."

This was going to be a long trip.

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**Review?**


	9. Of That Which Jealousy Destroys

**Wow! I can't believe the response-thanks so much, guys. I usually respond to my reviews individually, but to my guest Nise-no, I don't plan on popping into the future with Hook and Henry anytime soon, although that could change... I'm always open to suggestions!-DD**

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Chapter 9: Of that which Jealousy Destroys

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A broad yawn stretched the muscles in Emma's face and neck and she sank back into her hammock, lazily waking to the gentle rolling of the deck beneath her, the sunlight streaming through the single porthole, heralding a new day. Placing her feet on the floor, she made her way to the tiny window, the picturesque ocean staring back at her in azure magnificence, its immensity offering a sense of peacefulness that said everything was going to be okay. She removed her loose linen clothing, using one corner of her shirt to briskly rub her face, bringing life back into her tired skin, and she laid out the fairy garb with the intention of allowing it to air out before packing it for the overland trip.

Getting into the spirit of being aboard a pirate ship, she shimmied into her leather pants, their cool snugness like a caress around her bare legs. After donning her shirt, she fastened the last of the buttons on her vest, running her hands down her torso to smooth it out, and tugged at the lacy cuffs on each of her wrists. She felt like she'd win a Halloween costume contest hands down and wished she had a mirror to take in the full effect, all while desperately trying not to imagine Jones's reaction to her changed attire.

Closing the door behind her, she made her way to the galley to see about breakfast. Jamison was standing in front of a large pot, stirring a fragrant-smelling broth, sweat beading on his brow from the heat collected in the small room.

"Good morning, Jamison," she greeted with a large smile.

He gave her a big and cheerful grin in response, reminding her of David after he'd just received good news. "Ah, lass, nice to see ye up and aboot. Will ye be wantin' somethin' to eat?"

"Yeah, thanks. Have we been at sea for long?" She sat down at one of the few tables in front of the tiny kitchen area, watching as he added a couple of pinches of something to the large pot before setting down his spoon and leaning against a wooden cutting board.

"No, not terribly long. Dawn was a coupl' hours past. The deckhands have all ea'en and made their way to mind the riggin'. Ye'll no' be disturbed at yer breakfast." He smiled at her, twisting his lean body away from the pot to put a fresh crust of bread and a chunk of cheese on a plate before handing it to Emma along with a mug of ale.

The ale was sweeter than the one she'd had the night before, with a pleasant fruity note. "Jamison, this is wonderful. Did you brew it yourself?"

"Aye." He flushed with pride, wiping at his brow with a corner of his apron.

She spoke companionably with Jamison throughout her meal, asking him the particulars of food preparation on the ship, what kinds of supplies he kept on hand, and what his favorite foods were. He told her that baking was his favorite pastime when out at sea for long periods, and so he always had sacks upon sacks of flour kept in the hold. He had even learned how to make a palatable cookie from the barest of supplies, needing only flour, water, and some dried fruit. Emma was duly impressed, and told him so, only to make him blush—a slow reddening that traveled from the open collar of his shirt all the way up to his forehead.

Upon finishing breakfast and thanking Jamison once again, she slowly made her way on deck. Several crew members turned their heads from their lines and sails to follow her with admiring glances. Her heart hammered away in her chest like a hummingbird buzzing around a garden while her eyes traveled to the helm to find Jones, legs spread wide for balance as he expertly adjusted the wheel, scrutinizing the sails and the wind direction to maximize speed as they edged further away from land.

She captured his attention at almost the same moment he had captured hers, and his eyes widened in surprise, their brilliant blue mirroring the sea and intensifying in the morning sunlight with an appreciative gleam. Preoccupied with his obvious approval, she nearly tripped on a rope that was lying across her path, but caught herself and deftly stepped over it before meeting his eyes again, this time with a sheepish grin.

There was no way he had missed her clumsiness, and if he'd been Captain Hook, she could have anticipated some kind of sassy comment about her reaction to his impressive stature or something, but Jones had only smiled broadly and winked, before turning back to his job of setting the course, and it occurred to her that he wouldn't embarrass her in front of his crew.

She settled herself on a barrel near the railing, looking out over the water while still watching Jones from the corner of her eye, his commanding presence sending flutters of pleasure down to her toes.

The more she became acquainted with Jones, the more she became aware of how different he was from what she might have thought. He was optimistic, lively, good-natured and enthusiastic—in short, happy. She would never have described Hook that way, and in her own time, _her_ Killian always held a certain reserve about him, even when he was teasing. He was still sarcastic, and yet romantic, chivalrous and considerate of others, but his difficult past had left its own scars—scars that were no longer sensitive to the touch, having had the benefits of true love and family to toughen the flesh—but there nonetheless, rough and ropy tendrils gleaming white across the bright red of his heart.

Perhaps there was something she could do to ease the pain of the experiences ahead of him, she thought. She had no idea what that might be or how it would be possible, but maybe she could plant an idea without giving away his future. It would be risky, but he didn't deserve any less. And for all he'd done to redeem her own broken and twisted heart, the least she could do was to search for a way to lessen the suffering that would eventually bring them together.

Angling herself away from the water, Emma scanned the deck as the crewman bustled cheerily, delighted to be at sea once again, their joy evident in their back-slapping camaraderie. Those that weren't actively engaged with lines and adjusting sails were all cleaning something, and she now understood why Jones's ship always looked immaculate.

One of the sailors given the job of oiling the railing broke through her observations as he worked his way toward her, surreptitiously studying her beneath his lashes when he thought she wasn't looking. Emma had strong instincts regarding being watched, having spent her fair share of time in her own covert observations over the years, and kept her awareness on him, wondering what he was up to. At one point, he caught her eye, giving her a teeth-baring grin to match the delightful twinkle in his warm hazel eyes. He had a large scar running down one side of his face and dark hair that hung low over his forehead and curled down the back of his neck. He was about Jones's height, younger though, and thin but wiry, though Emma didn't doubt he was as strong as all the sailors she'd seen on this ship, regardless of size.

He moved even closer. "Name's Gavin, milady, in case you weren't rememberin'."

She hadn't remembered his name, but she'd remembered that fierce looking scar and the way he hopped to whenever Jones spoke. "Swan," she introduced herself, and leaned forward to offer him her hand.

He shook his head and put his hands out to show her they were dirty. "Lemme put this down and I'll be right back." He dropped the cloth and oil he was using and scurried away below deck, returning with a couple of wooden sticks.

"I was only wonderin' how you might like a bit of sparring? It's only that I don' get many chances to practice on account of everyone bein' busy like." He bent his head, as though he expected her to turn him down. She reached for one of the sticks with a smile, gaining a look of grateful surprise from him.

"Are you a sword fighter?" she asked curiously, assuming that most pirates could wield a blade, being necessary in their line of work.

"Beginner. That's how I got this." He pointed to the large scar across his cheek. "When I was onboard another ship, I got into a fight with one of the crewman. Said he didn't like the way I looked at him. I was the youngest, so I expected some teasin', but for some reason he really hated me, challenged me to a duel and I lost… left me with this as a reminder to learn how to defend myself. When I came onboard here, Jamison taught me a few moves, but I still need to practice."

That seemed like a harsh lesson for one so young. "How old are you?"

He looked down at his feet and shuffled them a bit before answering. "Nineteen, milady."

"Seems awfully young for piracy." She tilted her head to the side, skeptically regarding him.

He extended his chest forward in an outward display of bravado. "Not as young as Cap'n."

That was true. She glanced back at Jones, blue eyes darting between the water and the sails and back to one of the sailors to bark out an order to hold a line. Killian had become pirate and captain all in one at the ripe age of eighteen, but she imagined he was the exception rather than the rule.

"Alright then, sir, I challenge thee to a dual," she said pleasantly, and bowed low, holding the sword out, ready for a bit of exercise and praying she'd remember all the different moves that Killian and David and Henry had shown her over the past couple of years.

He raised one brow in amusement, suddenly looking much older than his nineteen years. "Yes, milady, let us see exactly what you are made of."

She furrowed her brows at the odd comment, so incompatible with the cheerful boy from moments before, but said nothing.

He moved first, wooden stick held at arm's length, legs in a classic attack position as he swerved the blade toward her middle. Emma parried, deflecting his blow easily, and then lifted her makeshift sword to swing for his shoulder, which he easily blocked as well.

"So I hear you're from the land without magic. If there's no magic in your realm, how did you get here?" he asked casually, making a pass along her side.

"I honestly don't know." She whipped around to meet him head on.

They danced back and forth, blocking and attacking, nothing too strenuous or exciting, and Emma found herself enjoying the light exercise, the breeze picking up her long hair off the back of her neck and cooling her with its light touch.

"But you must know about magic." Gavin lunged for her hip, then quickly changed directions before giving her a light tap on the other.

"Nice fake. Why do you say that?" She canted backward to gain a little space between them.

"Well, if your land has no magic, how do you know to call it that unless you've encountered magic before?" He moved forward again, stick upright and ready, waiting for her to attack this time.

"Valid point. Why do you want to know?" She swung high and the moment he raised his stick to block, she quickly brought the tip of her stick to just under his armpit, touching him lightly.

He smiled widely, conceding the point. "Curiosity. I know the cap'n is helping you get back to your realm, which should only require a bean. Those are easy enough to come across through friends of the giants, so where are we going instead and why?"

Thinking the kid sure paid attention, Emma settled a wary gaze on him. She had no intention of telling him anything, no matter how innocent he appeared to be. It wasn't in her nature to trust that easily. "You're a nosy kid, you know that?"

He grinned again, grunting under the effort of the exercise. "Aye, so I've been told more 'n once." He swung wide and low at Emma's leg, but she jumped backward, eluding the blow.

"In this case, you're just going to have to trust your captain." She lunged forward quickly, stabbing at his middle, but he dropped the point of his stick just in time, blocking her thrust with the thickest part of it, before shoving her backward with a strong push.

He paused a minute, allowing them both time to catch their breaths. "Speaking of the cap'n, what is it with you two?"

Initially startled by the question, Emma diligently blanked her features. "What are you talking about?" She raised her stick again, ready.

He circled around a bit, playfully regarding her, and clearly not believing her. "The way you look at him… as though you know him or something. I thought you'd only just met."

_Damn kid_. He was observant, just like Henry. She'd have to be more careful to avoid Jones in the future. If the kid could see it, then anyone could, and who knew what kind of repercussions that might have. "We did just meet. I don't know what you're talking about," she said levelly, fixing him with a gaze that said the matter was closed.

He smiled in resignation, shrugging his shoulders, his sun-touched eyes crinkling like those of a very old man. "No matter. I have everything I need."

"What?" she asked, discomposed once again. His simple words held a heaviness that suddenly filled her with concern, making her wonder just how much she had given away and just how much he knew.

"Right now," he said brightly, "everything I need is here, sparring on a beautiful day with a beautiful woman. I couldn't ask for anything else. En guarde!"

His pleasant expression disarmed her, and she smiled in spite of herself, the feeling of concern evaporating as quickly as it had come. Thinking to herself how much she really needed to relax, she focused her attention back on the match, enjoying the bright sunshine, the delightful conversation and the swift motion stretching her limbs as good as any kickboxing class back home, losing herself in the joy of how much he reminded her of Henry.

.

.

Killian's hands ached from gripping the wheel of his ship, knuckles whitening with each crack of the wooden sticks, maintaining their course as well as he could with the unwelcome distraction. Gavin hadn't been a member of the crew for very long, so Killian didn't know much about him, except that he was a hard worker and obedient to his orders. But Killian had kept his eye on the boy until he could be proven, the nature of their business requiring a certain amount of secrecy and trust; so far the boy had never given him a reason to doubt him. Killian now looked at him with a renewed interest, unwillingly noticing Gavin's appreciative glances toward his bewitching sparring partner whose attention he was currently enjoying. Killian could interrupt the play and send the boy back to work, but he didn't think Emma would appreciate his acting like a jealous suitor.

Pulling his eyes away from the sparring match with a slight grimace, he looked out over the endless expanse of water. He had once heard the ocean referred to as a basin holding the gods' tears, but nothing even remotely melancholy threatened in the azure distance, and he wondered if the person who said it had ever been out at sea on a day like this one.

This was his favorite type of weather for a sail, sunlight sparkling off the low waves in a perfect imitation of a sea of crystals. A light wind blew inquisitively through the open air, puffing out the sails like mushroom clouds, each breath of breeze deferring to the objects and persons it encountered by skirting quickly around them. One such draft drew his eyes back to Emma as it wafted through her long blond hair, whipping it around her face in a frenzied caress, making his own fingers itch to comb through her silky tresses. The sunlight danced on her glowing skin, and a faint sheen covered her face, cheeks pink from the exertion. Gods, she looked wondrous in the tight leather trousers and fitted vest that highlighted her extraordinary shape. She looked like a pirate. _His_ pirate. Then to watch her twist and turn, parry and feint, pass and thrust; she was a sight, determination and focus lending her a sovereign air, as though she could control the elements themselves with only a thought. Her lithe movements were enough to make his mouth go dry and his gut ache.

He saw her tilt her head back to laugh at something the boy had said, yet remain mindful of her opponent, never turning her eyes away from him. She was surprisingly good with a blade, and he noted she would be a worthy ally in an actual fight. After awhile, they laid their sticks against the railing, Emma sitting back down on the barrel and Gavin picking up his rag to continue his work. They were still talking, and Killian could see that she was enjoying herself.

He frowned in dismay. Why was it she consistently closed herself off to him, and yet accepted the attentions of the other members of his crew? Killian knew she wasn't unaffected by him; he knew she found him attractive, but to actively flirt with the boy was more than he could bear, and the question of just how strongly she was tied to her husband back home moored itself in a tidy corner of his mind.

He turned the wheel over to one of the crew now that they were on a steady course, a thin line of land visible from the starboard side of the ship. He made his way to his cabin, closing the door behind him and settling himself in his chair, propping a leg up before reaching for his bottle of rum. He deserved a drink after everything he'd had to endure over the last few days.

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Having gone over the map to the seer's several times, updating his logbook and charting out their course on paper, Killian emerged from the depths of his cabin, stumbling just a little, realizing with chagrin that he may have had more rum than he'd intended. His thoughts had been a jumbled mess, and he couldn't remember what he'd written in the logbook, although it wouldn't be the first time he'd written nonsense, especially after Liam's death.

He had spent the greater part of the last few hours trying to wipe Emma's image from his mind, which kept rudely intruding in on his work even with the rum, and now he thought the gods must be having a bit of sport with his heart, kicking it back and forth like a ball of rags beneath a gaggle of children's feet. He stepped out on deck into the waning sunset.

At precisely that moment, one of the gods must have landed a particularly powerful kick to the beating organ, and he nearly doubled over as his breath left his lungs in a quiet whoosh, the last bit of air sticking in his throat as though he'd swallowed the rag ball itself. Emma. She was bent over the rail directly in front of him, arms resting on the freshly oiled wood, wistfully looking out over the water. The sunset outlined the edges of her body distinctly, as though she had been painted on a canvas with the Jolly as a backdrop, the contours of her silhouette standing out in stark relief. He had never experienced such a strong attraction toward a woman in his life; no one had ever affected him as she was.

He sidled up to her, the rum and his chaotic thoughts emboldening him to lighten the burden of frustrated inclinations, and he pressed his mouth against her ear.

"Always mind your position, love." Her perfectly round bottom was barely concealed beneath the soft leather trousers. He skimmed his hand over the stretched fullness, a glancing touch before sliding up to her waist and settling on her lower back. "Else you might attract unwanted advances."

She jerked away from him, green eyes blazing. "What are you doing?" she asked accusingly.

"Much the same as you, I expect. Enjoying the view." He smirked, hoping to provoke her as sure as she'd provoked him, relishing the fire his words tempted from those smoky eyes. She was a wild and passionate one; he'd bet money on it. He leaned against the railing next to her, but didn't touch her again even though his body ached for it.

"You're drunk and being an ass." She turned back toward the water, putting some space between them, her mouth pressed in a tight line.

He closed the distance and placed his lips against her ear again, whispering, "I prefer pleasantly relaxed and rakishly charming, love."

She stood up a little straighter and whipped her head around. He didn't miss the flush of her cheeks and he smirked again in response.

"Grabbing my ass is supposed to be charming? You've a funny definition of the word, buddy," she said sarcastically.

"Perhaps as funny as your definition of marriage, hmm?" he challenged. He knew he was picking a fight he'd likely lose, but he had spent a couple of painful hours watching her with the boy, a couple of hours wishing she would talk to him with such unguarded ease, and he always was the type to go for broke.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she spit out, eyes dilating with fury as she turned to face him, standing up to her full height.

"Just that you seem to have no problem raining your attentions on the boy." His words were calm, but his tone had gone from mocking to frustrated, and he glared at her, jealousy flaring anew in his chest like a fresh spark on tinder.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded.

"I saw your little conversation, Swan… laughing coquettishly at his words, even touching his hand at one point. I thought you had a husband to hasten home to." He stepped back, satisfied when he saw her gasp in surprise. Guilt if he ever saw it.

He shrugged and walked back toward his cabin.

Their voices had been quiet up until then, if impassioned, but when she followed him, she nearly shouted at his back. "I do have a husband to get home to. How dare you question me about that?"

He had reached his cabin, and he slammed the door open wide, whirling back around to meet her full on, anger claiming him too. "I'm risking life and limb to get you back to this so-called family of yours, only to have you rebuff me at every turn. What is your problem, Swan?"

"My problem? All you ever do is try to charm me with your good looks and funny stories, instead of just leaving me alone, all while you have a mistress on the side. How is that any different?"

"Mistress? I have nothing of the sort. I'm a free man in every sense of the word. It's you who goes all hot and cold at the drop of a hat, so that one minute I'm in a desert and the next I'm in an ice storm." He was towering over her now, but she didn't back down.

"Damn it, Hook! Then what is Milah? I saw you together in the square. Looked like a mistress to me," she challenged, hands fisted at her sides.

"Milah? Is that what this is about?" He had honestly forgotten Milah, had never felt the hunger he felt for Emma for the farmer's wife. "And who's Hook? Another of your many suitors?" he spat out.

Her eyes turned a grayish green, the color of the sky just before an electrical storm, when the edges of the trees and landmarks stand out in absolute clarity. She clenched her teeth, speaking through her tight lips. "Hook is you, when you're being an ass. What is Milah to you then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he taunted with an upraised brow.

She closed her eyes and swallowed thickly. When she reopened them, he could see her vibrating with tension, carefully controlling her emotions. With effort, she conceded, "Maybe I would."

His heart lurched in his chest, her abrupt change filling him with all kinds of hope that maybe Jamison was right, and this connection he felt with her was not one-sided after all.

"Why?" He stepped closer to her to brush a lock of hair over her shoulder, his pulse speeding up with anticipation. He'd guessed correctly—she had been jealous of Milah—and it took effort to keep from rejoicing in triumph that perhaps he did stand a chance at gaining her heart.

She was watching him closely, strong emotions still barely concealed beneath her calm expression. "Because it matters."

"Swan, what aren't you telling me?" He rested his hands on her arms, wishing he could hold her, but not able to, yet.

"I can't… But I'd still like to know." She choked on her words a little, sounding as though she were about to cry, but her green eyes remained dry as they studied him intently.

He paused, considering the implications of answering her question. He didn't usually share details of his relationships with anyone, save Jamison perhaps, but even then he only gave a rough sketch. But this was Emma, and she was different. If Milah truly was standing between him and his chance at a beginning with Emma, then he'd gladly tell her anything she wanted to know, especially while he could still plead drunkenness for his honesty depending on her reaction.

"She's… she's just a lass who meets me at the tavern when we're in town, who plays cards and drinks like a fish. We met a couple of months ago and she says she wants to leave her husband but lacks the courage to do so yet." She looked satisfied or relieved, he couldn't tell in the gloom of his cabin.

"She wants to leave him for you?" Her green eyes darkened and lowered to his mouth, watching him answer the same way he studied the clouds to determine the weather, not missing a single thing.

"I imagine so, but no words have been spoken." He began to lightly stroke her arms through her shirt, hoping she wouldn't notice the small touch and push him away.

"Would you take her?" Her words were barely loud enough for him to make out.

The answer to that simple question would send him down two completely different paths. He had thought about it a couple of times, of taking Milah with him at some point. It would be nice to have constant female companionship on long sea voyages, nice to have someone warm his bed. He was definitely a one-woman man, never able to really stomach the fleeting relationships that most sailors found themselves a party to. But his relationship with Milah hadn't progressed that far. Hell, he hadn't even bedded the woman yet, having enjoyed their stolen moments for just what they were, losing himself in the thrill of their flirtation, although he knew she would gladly give herself to him if given the chance.

He rubbed the hair at the back of his neck. "I'm not ready to take on a full-time female companion… that is unless you're offering?" he smirked knowingly, hoping to steer their conversation away from its serious turn.

She ignored the comment and asked instead, "Are you… together?"

"Why is this so important to you, lass?" He stepped even closer to her, his hand coming up to brush the pad of his thumb across her cheek. She was staring at his chest, he saw, and looked up at him to answer.

"It just… is."

He spoke quietly, afraid to break the tender moment. "No, we're not together, not in the sacred sense of the term… And…" He trailed off, unsure whether or not to finish the thought.

"And…" She held his gaze questioningly, and he decided she was worth the risk to his heart.

"And she's nothing compared to you." She obviously hadn't expected his answer, since her breath caught and her green eyes widened before drifting to his mouth again, and he knew, he knew without a doubt that now was the time to kiss her if ever there was a time to do it. He leaned down, watching her, waiting for permission. She didn't move, only tilted her face toward his, ever so slowly, closing her eyes as he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was gentle and slow, but no less tantalizing. She tasted like ale and the apple she'd eaten earlier, softness and light. Her lips fitted to his like they were meant to be there, a settling, like coming home after a long journey apart. He still held her cheek and wrapped his other hand around her narrow waist, pulling her into him, her curves feeling so good and warm and alive and _right_, while both of her hands pressed into his chest, curling around the edges of his shirt. She was tasting him, feeling him, breathing him in. And he was holding himself back, letting her, carrying out the same slow exploration of the amazing woman he'd wanted to kiss since he'd first laid eyes on her.

Then he tasted the salt of her tears as they made their way down her face.

.

.

Nothing could have prepared Emma for that kiss, that slow and languid kiss that stole her breath and left her body floating away in a sea of yearning. She was kissing her husband again, and she was home, and they had all night to themselves because that's how he always kissed her when he was going to take things slowly. And she couldn't fight it anymore. She couldn't fight how much she loved him, how he made her feel beautiful and cherished and most importantly, _loved_. He tasted like Killian, _her_ Killian, like rum and salt and leather and the man she'd fallen in love with a thousand times over. She tightened her hold on him, crying, her heart breaking at how much she had missed him.

After a few moments of complete bliss, she became aware of a burning sensation on her right thigh. She shifted, trying to move away from the fiery touch without disengaging their embrace. The burning continued getting stronger and hotter until she pulled away from him completely with a loud exclamation of pain.

She looked down, eyes falling on the round bulge in her pocket, by now feeling as though a hole was burning through the leather. She reached into her pocket and removed the opal stone, before quickly dropping it to the ground like a hot potato. It was glowing white, the cerulean and amber lines crisscrossing wildly through it, flaring and glaring as if in accusation.

"What is it, love?" His hands were resting on her waist now, and he looked from her to the stone and back.

"The stone. It's burning… hot. It's…" She bent to touch it, and picked it up; it was completely cool once again.

She looked up at him, comprehension dawning on her face, and she covered her mouth with her hand, realizing that she'd been kissing him, that she had allowed jealousy to cloud her judgment and put them both in danger of changing the past more than it was already going to be altered. He had to fall in love with Milah, and he wouldn't fall in love with Milah if he fell in love with her. She stood up straight, wiping her tears with the back of her hand and keeping her eyes on the ground to avoid the broken look she knew she'd find on his face.

"I'm sorry, Jones. This is a one-time thing." She took two steps toward the door, his hand on her arm stopping her.

"Swan," he choked out, "Don't leave."

Her heart was tearing at the seams, one stitch at a time, slowly, painfully, so she spoke without turning around. "I can't do this with you. It's Milah you should be with."

She walked out the door, his muttered "As you wish," completely rending the last seam of her ragged heart.

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**My lovely beta is extremely busy, and because I don't like to go too long between postings, I'm posting this without her expert advice. If any of you see something that needs attention, please don't hesitate to let me know, and I'll fix it for future readers! Thanks!**


	10. Pirates!

**Thanks to all my readers and followers, and welcome to the new ones!**

**Beta-read by the cleverest of the clever: Revenessa and lethemorai. Thanks so much, you guys! ~DD**

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Chapter 10: Pirates!

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As if the gods of the sky could somehow sense Killian's mood, the day broke gray and little blustery, offering a show of support he wasn't likely to get from the object of his ruminations. He welcomed the constant breeze, its touch cooling his skin before his body could even think of breaking a sweat as he and Emma hiked through the rocky forest terrain toward the seer's location. Several types of trees dotted the contours of the rolling land, filling the forest with the nutty odors of oaks and pecans, as well as the astringent smell of turpentine from the conifers. Large boulders nestled amongst the trees, tucked here and there like small children holding the hands of their protectors, an occasional darkening in their faces marking the entrance to a possible cave or shallow den for larger animals.

They had disembarked from the Jolly Roger earlier that morning, each carrying a pack complete with a bedroll and spare change of clothes, and weapons—a couple of daggers, a sword for him and a cutlass for her—as well as dry rations in case he couldn't do any fishing or hunting.

He had given Emma a wide berth the previous day on the ship and this morning, not surprised when she'd avoided him completely. Now was not the time to push her; he knew that much, even in the short time they'd spent together. He'd been biding his time, knowing they would be alone soon enough, and giving her the chance to recover from the intensity of that kiss. _That kiss_, fleeting and yet no less powerful, filling him with equal measures of hope and despair—hope that she was just as affected by their inexplicable connection as he was, and despair that she'd leave and he'd never see her again. His lips still burned in memory of it, and he found himself envying another man for the first time in his life.

She was definitely hiding something important about his future, and although he could see her point about maintaining the timeline as much as currently possible, he wondered how much could really change if knew some of what was to come, which begged the question: wasn't this an opportunity to avoid the mistakes and pitfalls of life that inevitably occur? Did she know him well enough in her time to know what he regretted, to know what he would give anything to rectify about his life? There was no way to answer that, not now at least, not when she was as unyielding as she currently appeared to be.

He glanced over his shoulder at her as she followed behind him quietly, staring at her boots and lost in thought, different emotions playing across her face like shadows dancing in firelight. What he wouldn't give to peek into a window of her mind, to know what she knew, to experience what she had seen. But he could see the weight of her decision to maintain his history resting heavily on her delicate shoulders, bearing a responsibility that no one should have the misfortune to bear, especially a lass as deserving of happiness as she was.

Emma… gods, she was bold and self-assured, and yet soft and passionate—a woman who could fend for herself, but would still allow him to protect her, to comfort her. Rather the perfect combination if you asked him. He wanted a partner, and yet to be needed at the same time.

Of course the crew had spoken of his argument with her. Half of them had witnessed her shouting at him, but they knew better than to mock him about it, knowing he'd have them doing extra chores or abandoned at the next port. No, when he was in a foul temper, the crew generally avoided him. Not Jamison though. As soon as the rest of his crew had gone off to find their beds for the night, Jamison had characteristically refilled his mug of ale and motioned to one of the chairs with _that look_, not so much suggesting Killian join him as insisting on it.

And Killian had. He'd told Jamison about their kiss, and how she'd closed off right afterward, how she'd walked away without a backward glance, only to tell him that he should be with Milah. Milah! How he almost hated himself for being so unsettled over a woman he'd only just met, and had asked his friend sheepishly, "D'you think I'm mad, mate?"

To which Jamison had replied, "No son, not mad… In love."

Killian had rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin, then buried his face in his ale, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, the truth of the words wrestling for recognition amidst the doubts that inevitably arose whenever he thought about sending Emma back to her own time, grateful that it was only Jamison to witness his vulnerability and confusion. He'd wanted women before, occasionally taken his pleasure from them, but never been in love. He was sure he would have known it if he had.

They had talked for awhile after that, Jamison's encouraging words soothing Killian like a balm on a bad burn, until finally Jamison had quoted an old proverb from his childhood:

May those who love us, love us.

For those who do not love us, may God turn their hearts.

And if He cannot turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles,

so we may know them by their limping.

Killian glanced back at Emma again, this time watching her footsteps, looking for any trace of limping. He found none and smiled, his step lightening faintly with genuine optimism, and he offered a silent prayer to the gods that was a good sign.

.

.

An inquisitive dragonfly buzzed around Jones's shoulder, darting back and forth, almost as though it were sniffing him, checking him out, and perhaps it was, because as soon as it finished with him, it bumbled over to her, hovering in mid air, flitting from one side of her face to the other, watching and waiting. _Why are you here?_ It seemed to ask. Emma stared back and projected into the ether: _I wish I knew_. She felt more than a little foolish having a silent conversation with a dragonfly, but this whole trip had taken on a surreal quality to it, so that she was beginning to question whether or not her past was a dream that she'd finally awoken from and her present was reality. Confusion settled over her, tangling her in a network of mixed emotions and conflicted ideas.

She wished _her_ Killian was here. He would listen to her predicament and offer carefully thought-out suggestions and possible solutions. He would hold her, gently rub her back as she talked, his soothing presence taking away any anxiety that might have taken root. He was a wonderful listener, and always seemed to know her innermost concerns, voicing what she often didn't have words for or wasn't even aware of. He was wise, and he understood human nature and reactions better than anyone. She had always assumed it was his three hundred years of life experience, but meeting Jones had shown her that his wisdom was innate, a special gift Killian was born to.

The sound of her boots crunching on the hardened dirt dragged her back to the present. Jones was just ahead, and she wondered what he was thinking, having avoided him since their kiss, praying that she could somehow redeem the one mistake that could have eternal implications. There were so many things that could go wrong if he didn't fall in love with Milah. Rumplestiltskin became the Dark One because his wife left him for Jones. Rumple wrote the curse that Regina used to whisk everyone to the land without magic. If the curse wasn't written, then she would have been raised in the Enchanted Forest, she might not have met Neal, and while that portion of her life was one she'd rather forget, Henry had still been the result of their union, and she couldn't chance his not being born. And that was just the tip of the iceberg, not including how Jones's life would change, quite possibly ending in old age nearly two-hundred seventy years before she was even born. No, it was a big giant mess she'd be in if Jones didn't fall in love with Milah.

Emma had assumed he was involved with the woman, in every sense. And when he told her he wasn't, she had been relieved of all things. Relieved! She had no idea she'd been so jealous of the dark-haired beauty whose name had graced his wrist with a flourish of permanent ink, but being totally honest with herself, she had, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would have gone to the same lengths for her that he had to avenge Milah. The anxious part of her, the part of her that was homesick and scared whispered, _Killian's love for Milah was once in a lifetime_. And the sarcastic part of her retorted, _Well, he's had about five of those_.

But now to have him walking in front of her, occasionally consulting the map to check their trajectory, untainted by lost love and betrayal, she wanted to capture him in a bubble to protect his heart from the future that awaited him. And so, after a day and a night to think about it, she'd finally formulated a possible plan on how she might get history back on track with Jones. But she'd need to make a deal with the Dark One, and she had no clue who he was or how she was supposed to find him.

Jones slowed his step, allowing her to catch up to him until she was walking by his side, careful to maintain a bit of space between them. She looked up at him in question, wondering what he had to say, the breeze picking up a few errant leaves and stirring them around her feet.

A smile played at the corner of his lips. "Have you figured it out yet, lass?"

"What?" She turned her head to avoid his impish expression, waiting for the cheeky comment or innuendo that was sure to come.

"Whatever it is on your boots that has gained so much of your attention." At her upturned brow he continued, "You've been staring at them for the better part of an hour. You even have me wishing I was born a piece of cobbled leather." He waggled his brow at her and grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously? You really need to come up with better pick up lines."

"If you're referring to those words said to gain a lady's consideration, then I'd say my lines aren't so bad." An impudent smirk settled on his lips.

"How do you figure that?" she said sarcastically, but with an amused undertone.

"You're conversing with me now, aren't you?" He quirked a brow and nodded once in mild triumph, placing both his hands on the straps of his backpack to take a little of the weight off his shoulders.

"So you're just trying to make small-talk," she said as a statement rather than a question.

"Come now, Swan, can't you spare the least bit of pity for a lonely man starved for the conversation of a beautiful lass like yourself?"

"Lonely? You? Why do I find that hard to believe?"

He was quiet, and the forest seemed suddenly filled with birdsong, a chittering sound amidst the blowing wind, and she looked up to see a large flock of tiny birds perched on the topmost limbs of two oak trees, flying around back and forth, alighting here and there, cheerfully playing some kind of game like musical chairs.

"I thought we covered that the other night." He spoke simply, but looked over at her pointedly, blue eyes cutting through her like a hot knife through butter.

Her knees nearly buckled as she was assaulted with images of his lips brushing against hers, her mouth tasting him as surely as if he were kissing her now. She shouldn't have been surprised by the comment; he never knew to leave well enough alone.

"I wouldn't know, Jones. Just along for the ride." She watched as his blue eyes flared with suppressed emotion, and she averted her face to escape the touch of sorrow she saw there, the sorrow that told her how deeply he felt for her, the sorrow hiding behind carefully controlled frustration. She kept walking forward, eyes down; she would just pretend it had never happened.

"Ah, so that's how it is, is it?" he challenged, voice sharp.

"Something like that." She swallowed thickly, frowning at the ground in front of her. Then changing the subject to avoid the prickling sensation his penetrating stare sent down her spine, she asked, "How much further until we get to the seer's location?"

He continued staring at her for a long moment and then seemed to let it go for the time being, unfolding the map he had in his pocket, stopping to show her. "See? This is where we are." He pointed to another section of the map, "and this is where things get confusing. It looks like some kind of maze; see how the path keeps twisting in on itself?"

She nodded, hoping it wasn't the type of path they could get lost on.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be anything between here and there, so we'll walk until we get tired and then we'll make camp for the night, probably somewhere around here." He pointed to a spot on the map that was about halfway between where they were now and where they needed to be.

She nodded again, shifting her pack a little and pulling out her canteen for a swig of water.

The terrain narrowed a bit through a scattering of boulders and he asked, "Would you like to lead, lass?"

"Yeah, and give you the opportunity to ogle my ass? No thanks. After you." She tilted her head to the side with the most sarcastic smile she could muster.

He smirked in reply and took a large step forward, a slight spring in his step as he took the lead. Actually, she was glad they didn't have to walk side by side. Constantly managing her facial expressions exhausted her, and she was doing her damnedest to remain as impassive and unaffected by him as possible.

She contented herself instead with the sights and sounds of the forest, occasionally catching the tune to the whistle that drifted back on the air currents as he happily hiked.

====o0I0o====

The wind had settled down throughout the afternoon and they made camp right before dusk, Killian leaving Emma to tend the new fire while he went hunting, setting a few quickly fashioned snares to hopefully capture something fresh for their breakfast. The skittering sounds of small creatures hastily burrowing down for the night mingled with the distinguishing calls of several creatures, some larger than others, and Killian sent a silent prayer to the gods that they'd encounter no dangerous beasts that night.

Finding a tree with several small ripe apricots on it, he ate one and picked a large handful to complement their supper, putting them in the bag slung across his shoulder before setting the final snare nearby to catch any creatures looking to taste the delectable fruit. He found a small stream and paused long enough to refill his and Emma's canteens, and as luck would have it, a small patch of edible greens were growing along the water's edge, the kind he used to pick for Mrs. Fritz, watercress he thought she called it. He picked the youngest and tenderest of the bright green leaves, rinsing the mud from them in the stream, their herbaceous smell reminding him fondly of his childhood caretaker.

He made his way back to their campsite, fire now blazing, Emma sitting on the ground staring fixatedly at the flames. She tensed when she heard his footsteps.

"Here," he said, and handed her the refilled canteen along with the bag.

She took them from him without looking, taking a large swig of water before opening the bag and pulling out one of the apricots, eyes wide with surprise.

"Never saw you as much of the gatherer type," she said, turning the fruit in her hand before looking up at him, interested.

"No? Well, everyone's got to eat, Swan, including a pirate who occasionally gets stuck in the forest on the run."

She smiled at that, biting into the orange skin, juice spurting down her chin.

"Mmm… Wow, they have so much flavor!" She closed her eyes in bliss, and he fought the urge to kiss the excess juice away from her mouth.

He squatted down beside her instead, picked up a small fruit, and tossed it up and down a few times, intentionally focusing on something other than Emma's facial expression that sent a pleasant jolt throughout his body. "I used to eat them all the time when I was younger, playing near the farm. Made a good snack between meals."

"I can imagine." She gave a satisfied smile, licking her fingertips. "Is there anything I can do?"

He dropped the fruit back on the pile and held her green gaze for a moment before smiling easily. "Your company is assistance enough, lass."

She rolled her eyes and stood up, but not before he saw the soft flush in her cheeks. "I'll just be a minute…"

"There's a stream a couple minutes walk in that direction if you'd like a quick wash." He pointed accordingly and she grabbed a spare square of cloth from her pack before excusing herself with a small thank you, making her way into the forest beyond.

Smiling to himself, he pulled a small metal bowl out of his pack to cook the watercress leaves on the outskirts of the fire. He felt a little like those greens, barely touching the engulfing flames, but aware nonetheless of the heat, the heat of a life altering passion a mere breath away. If only she would relent, give over to their shared interest, he knew it'd be an experience beyond his wildest imagination. But life had never come easy to him, and perhaps that was for the best; he'd always liked a challenge, and Emma Swan was certainly that.

.

.

Fresh-faced and somewhat rejuvenated, Emma stopped at the edge of their campsite, a tiny smile playing on her lips when she saw Jones fiddling with the fire and a couple of plates. The remnants of the setting sun and the warm glow of the fire limned his body in a red wash that glinted off his dark hair and sparked off the shiny buttons on his jacket. He was kneeling down in the dirt, completely relaxed and so handsome, and she ached to touch him, to run her fingers through his luxurious hair, to hold him close and protect him from his future with her own resolve.

But she couldn't. She couldn't break his heart when he was so close to losing it because of her. She knew him well enough to know he was falling in love with her, and she wouldn't mess with him like that, no matter how difficult it was to keep her hands to herself.

She draped the cloth over a nearby branch to dry, and settled down next to the fire, its heat dispelling the slight chill introduced into the air with the descent of the sun.

Jones smiled as he handed her a plate with some of the cooked greens, a bit of jerky and a biscuit. "Not much in the way of seasoning, but it's nice to have something green now and then," he said.

"Ok, you are full of surprises. I expected sailors to live exclusively on meat and ban all vegetables." _Her_ Killian ate whatever he was served, said it was bad form to turn down a meal someone had gone to the trouble to prepare, but she never realized he actively sought to consume greens.

He chuckled appreciatively. "Most do, but Mrs. Fritz had a particular liking for them and was convinced they were the reason her people kept their teeth." He bared his teeth to show her. "See? All there, intact, so I guess she was right."

He did have excellent teeth. Grinning and shaking her head, she said, "You look like a crazed jack rabbit… She is right. Scurvy is the disease that causes people to lose their teeth from not eating enough fresh food."

"Aye? Well, I didn't know there was a name for it. I just don't want my mouth to look like my mates." He sat down next to her, plate balanced on one knee as he started eating.

"I know what you mean." She stared off into the flames, eating her simple meal, thinking about Jones and his teeth, which made her think about his mouth, which made her think about their kiss, which made her pinch herself and remember Milah.

====o0I0o====

The night was cool, but not so cool that Killian would have a chance of getting Emma to lay out her bedroll next to his, so he didn't even suggest it. He rolled his out and laid back, hands across his chest, staring at the stars peeking out from the canopy above. He heard Emma's quiet breathing across the fire; perhaps she was asleep already, dreaming about her family.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Killian woke with a start to the sound of low voices. The fire had burned down low, nothing more than a few coals glowing orange amidst the cooler gray ash of the spent wood.

He got up quickly but quietly and moved over to Emma, who was already awake, her gaze questioning when she saw him crouching next to her pallet.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"I thought I heard voices. Shhh." He put a hand on her shoulder and looked around the campsite to see if he could discern the direction of the intruders.

"I don' know, cap'n, the crown doesn' know we exist," said a man's voice very clearly, obviously quite nearby.

"Best keep it that way… I want you to keep an eye on our latest acquisition. See that he shares our goals, perhaps give him the _favor_ of proving himself to the rest of the crew," said his companion, his speech clear and educated, but cold.

Killian pointed to a spot away from the clearing, helping Emma up before rolling up his bedroll, grabbing his pack and sticking his weapons in his belt. She mimicked his movements, as quietly as possible.

"Aye, Aye, cap'n. 'Twill be my pleasure." The first voice took on a menacing undertone, and Killian knew he'd rather not meet up with these two, especially with Emma to protect.

Killian kicked dirt over the fire, and they were tiptoeing away from their campsite in the opposite direction of the voices within a couple of minutes.

Their progress was slow going over the rocky terrain in the dark; the stars providing little light. Killian stayed near Emma, steadying her elbow more than once over particularly rough patches. She always smiled her thanks, not risking words. He could only hope the men hadn't found their campsite and decided to follow.

Rounding a particularly large collection of boulders, Killian stopped, simultaneously pulling out his sword with one hand and putting his other across Emma's waist, effectively keeping her behind him. He felt her questioning look rather than saw it, but kept his eyes trained on the area in front of them, looking for the source of the footsteps he was sure he had heard. Before he could turn around and check behind them, Emma had stationed herself at his back, drawing her own cutlass. Unfortunately, he couldn't see over the boulder to his right.

"Now, now, Mr. Jones, that's no way to greet an old friend. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Killian tilted his head upward in surprise, recognizing a rival pirate dressed cleanly in tan breeches and white shirt, thick blond hair pulled into a queue at the back of his neck. He was crouching on top of the boulder, staring down his long straight nose with one thick brow bluntly arched.

"Alistair Astley, old fellow," Killian said with what he hoped was a convincing chuckle, "Just thought we'd drop in and offer a quick hello. Now that we have, what say you to letting us go on our way?" he asked charitably. This was an unfortunate turn of luck; Astley was well known for his cruelty and callousness, and even though Killian could assume the notorious pirate's lair was nearby, Astley boasted the protection of certain noblemen and would never be brought to justice even if Killian did share his whereabouts with the guards of one of the kingdoms.

The well-groomed pirate turned in the direction of the surrounding forest, and at least ten large and rather nasty-looking men, all heavily armed, eyes gleaming with the thrill of a possible fight, stepped out from behind the trees. Killian felt Emma's body tense behind him and he reached out to place his hand on her hip for encouragement. She pressed herself against him in silent acknowledgement before pulling away slightly, and they both angled their bodies toward the ring of pirates, keeping the boulder at their backs.

Astley jumped down from the boulder, landing lightly on his booted feet, eyes hooded like a hawk whose prey is within his sight.

"But you've come so far. 'Twould be rude to offer you anything less than our _full_ hospitality." He began walking back and forth in a steady pace, hands locked behind his back and looking amongst his men, the forest and his captives.

Killian widened his stance a hair, body tense for an attack, and strove to keep his voice level. "Oh, I shouldn't worry, Astley, we require nothing special."

"I'm sure. And who is your lovely lady?" Astley stopped his pacing, and Killian turned his head to see the blackguard regarding Emma with a gimlet eye, as though he were sizing her up to figure out what kind of price she would fetch. Killian's stomach dropped as he realized that could be exactly what the ruthless pirate was doing.

"No one of consequence. She's just along for the ride." Killian felt Emma stiffen behind him and he wished he could see her face to know if the barb had struck her as it had struck him when she'd first said it.

"Let's let the lady speak for herself, shall we?" he asked, moving closer. Emma raised her cutlass higher, effectively stopping his forward motion.

"What do you want from us?" she demanded.

"Oh, darling, you _are_ a feisty one." His words dripped with mockery and then he turned to Killian. "Well, that's the only kind of woman to have, then. Nicely done, Jones." Astley casually walked a semi-circle around them, and Killian could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the rogue captain rubbed his chin, not taking his eyes off them.

"What to do, what to do…" He resumed pacing back and forth, and Killian realized that it was all for show, to prolong the inevitable; the savage pirate had already made up his black mind.

"Wait. I know you take issue with me, but let the lass go." Killian had to at least try and reason with the man.

"Bargaining now, Jones? That's so unlike you. But the woman will fetch a pretty price where we're going, and you… well… you wouldn't be missed by many. In fact, I suspect there are several who would welcome being rid of your menacing ways. They may even be willing to pay for it." He raised a brow devilishly, then addressing his men, said, "Remove their belongings and take them to the prisoner's hold."

He looked up one last time with a faint grin on his face, his eyes almost wistful as he swept them both up and down before walking away from the scene, just as several men started closing in on them.

* * *

_A/N The proverb is from the movie, Keeping the Faith. Review?_


	11. Capture

_Welcome back, everyone. Here's a nice, long chapter for you. Thanks bunches to Revenessa and lethemorai whose profound comments flesh out this story even more. Let me know what you like or don't like, and I'll see if I can work more of it (or less) into the story. Cheers!~DD_

* * *

Chapter 11: Capture

* * *

Aware of their marked disadvantage, Killian dropped his pack at the base of the boulder, Emma following suit, as a sudden wind gust flattened his hair into his eyes and briefly blocked his view of the surrounding pirates. He shook the hair out of his face and glanced over at Emma, tilting his head and motioning with his eyes, silently telling her to stay close and keep the boulder at their backs so they wouldn't be taken from behind. He was rewarded with a quick nod before her eyes turned back to their opponents, intent and serious, ready for the fight. The pirates closed in a semi-circle around them and exhaled a collective breath, faces eager to see who would make the first move.

A particularly rough looking pirate with skin darkened from the sun and white scars tracing a map over every exposed piece of skin stepped forward toward Killian, sword raised. "Le's just see what the great Cap'n Jones is made of!" He leered, then lunged, and the other pirates shifted on their feet, trying to decide if they would engage or hang back.

Killian blocked the thrust and heard the clinking of swords behind him as Emma engaged in her own battle. He tried to keep his mind on the man in front of him, the others having decided to watch and wait, but found himself twisting his head in her direction at every grunt she made and at nearly every clink of her cutlass. His heart had jumped into his throat when he saw her elude a particularly violent thrust, and distracted, he'd turned his head to his opponent just in time to block a savage attack aimed at his head. When another pirate leapt forward with a shout and outstretched sword, ready to participate in the combat, Killian knew his split attention would only get him killed.

Recalling her skilled swordplay with Gavin and the near constant manifestation of her toughness since he'd met her, he knew the biggest mistake they could make would be to underestimate her. Using that thought as an anchor, Killian cleared his mind and gave his full attention to the fight at hand.

Killian danced to the side, quickly ducking and lunging, deflecting all their blows rather easily. He was the better fighter, knew it as surely as he knew his own name, every strike of metal on metal releasing a small measure of his recent pent-up frustration. He was filled with exhilaration, the cool air expanding his lungs and clearing the cobwebs of emotional turmoil, the exercise waking a sense of invincibility within his prime and practiced body.

Not one to mess around with niceties, one of his attackers swung his sword straight for Killian's head, and he crouched just in time, aiming for his opponent's side, slashing a gash into the man's skin through his shirt. The pirate grimaced and swerved out of the way, ready for a second attack, this time thrusting for Killian's middle. Killian jumped backward, his hip glancing off Emma's, the small touch filling him with calm reassurance at her presence.

.

.

Emma felt the blade buzz by her ear and her body responded instinctively by spinning wildly aside. She bumped her head on Jones's rising elbow, grunting with the impact, although she felt no pain. Her opponent was bigger, stronger, obviously better with a blade and trying to kill her, and a part of her was loving every second of it. The other pirates hadn't even bothered to get into the fight, laughing and standing around nonchalantly taking bets, swords casually cocked. She heard Jones's sharp intake of breath and a hiss as he released it, and she tried to stay focused on her own battle and not on the worry of his being injured.

She moved forward, this time going on the offensive, striking a fake at the man's left side before swerving right, coming up to the side of him, and before he could turn, she grabbed the tiny Balgienit dagger from its sheath at her back and stabbed for his kidney. He twisted at just the last second and she expected the blade to bounce off his backbone. Instead, she felt it cut through something like rubber, as the knife slipped between two vertebrae. The man dropped to the ground like a heavy sack, spinal cord severed. Astounded, Emma stared at the unobtrusive knife in her blood-stained hand, suddenly very grateful for Mother Pearl.

Several of his comrades shouted for him to stand, still not understanding what had happened until they registered that he was screaming, "I can't move my legs! I can't move my legs!" Knowing she had seconds before she was attacked again, Emma hopped over the injured man presently trying to grab her ankles, and holding the dagger point down in her left hand, she raised her sword arm. She grimaced with dismay; her resulting position was further away from Jones and would give another pirate more space to enter the fray.

Sure enough, two pirates jumped forward to take the fallen man's place. She had lost the advantage of being underestimated as the weaker sex; they wouldn't go easy on her now. She flexed her knees, body weight balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to move in any direction. One of them swung his sword at her right shoulder while the other slashed downward toward her head. Emma dove to the left, rolling over her shoulder before coming into a crouch, dagger outstretched. She stood up before the pirate could recover from the blow still reverberating up his arm from hitting dirt instead of her head, and plunged her dagger in the crook of his neck and shoulder, nearly decapitating him as the knife slid sideways into the forgiving flesh. _Two down, several more to go._

She had no time to catch her breath as she was confronted with her other opponent, having been blocked by his comrade while Emma had been disposing of him. He was snarling in anger, and now made his way around the body to thrust for Emma's chest. She flew backward to avoid the blow, but tripped on the downed man, falling hard on her backside. Just as she went to stand up she heard, "I've had just about enough of this."

She had no idea who had spoken, and twisted her head to see another pirate rushing her from behind while her former opponent was bearing down on her from the front. The vision of a giant crab closing its pincers around her came to mind, and she would have laughed if the situation wouldn't have been so serious. The only thing to do was to roll to the right, away from the second fallen man, and hope the two pirates stabbed one another. If only she were that lucky.

She wasn't. The pirate rushing her from behind anticipated her move and swerved to the right, aiming his sword for her cutlass and effectively wrenching it from her grasp. It flew toward one of his mates, who deftly caught it with a loud, "Ehhh!"

_Damn!_ She pointed the dagger at him, scrabbling backward as he advanced upon her with a maniacal grin on his face. "Not so bold now, are ye?"

A cold bead of sweat traveled between her shoulder blades, and she realized she might not make it out of this situation. An icy fear gripped her heart at the thought of dying in the Enchanted Forest, with no word to Killian or Henry or her parents.

The pirate made a swipe for the wrist of her hand holding the dagger, but she spun the blade around in a last ditch effort to give herself time to relocate, or at least stand up, and caught him in the hand before he could even blink. He pulled his hand back, crying out in pain before lunging for her, kicking her hand while she fumbled to get her feet under her. She dropped her knife and he grabbed her wrist, tugging her up and twisting her around into his unwashed body. His stench enclosed her, smothering her with the thickness of it as sure as if a pillow had been placed over her face. Bile surged up the back of her throat, and she fought the rising panic while she searched for Jones, relaxing only slightly when she saw his head bob up and around one of his adversaries. Jones was doing well, holding his own against not one, but two men. He had disposed of a couple of pirates himself, their discarded bodies writhing in pain, and she smiled in satisfaction that while the fight was already decided, at least they'd put a dent in their numbers.

When his opponents saw that she was captured, they moved back from the fight, Jones following them with marked determination until he realized what was happening. He abruptly turned around, blue eyes immediately finding her, flashing with fury as they traveled to the point of the sword at her neck before filling with concern when they met her own wary gaze. He dropped his sword immediately, blanking out his features with deft precision before taking two steps back from his weapon.

"Have to say I'm a lil' disappointed, Jones. Shame we couldn' finish ou' the fight." The man holding Emma spoke, his fetid breath causing her to avert her head, only to be jerked firmly back into place.

Jones's eyes narrowed angrily again before he checked himself, allowing a coldness to settle across his shoulders like a well-worn coat. "I'd say thirteen men against one and a lass is a fight whose end is already determined."

"Per'aps we'll have to try again sometime. Mebbe when the Cap'n doesn' have such o'vious plans for ye."

"I look forward to it." Killian bowed slightly, but didn't take his eyes off the pirate clutching Emma tightly to his chest.

Emma winced as the sword pressed more firmly against her neck. "Move." She had no choice but to comply. She felt him jerk his head above her, and she saw the remaining pirates close in on Jones before she was stumbling forward, the nasty blackguard clipping her heels with his boots.

.

.

A strong protectiveness surged through Killian at the sight of Emma standing on her toes to escape the sharp blade, mingled with a palpable fury that threatened to blacken out his vision and send him into a manic haze wherein he would destroy each of the pirates with his bare hands. But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment, the futility of their situation crawling through his body like a million larvae chewing him from the inside out. No longer was this an opportunity for sport and to prove his skill to the woman he loved, now was the time for discretion, wisdom, and patience. He hated being patient when it meant his love's life on the line.

_Pick your battles_. That was a truism in swordplay as well as in life, and Killian had been a successful pirate long enough to know the difference. Out-numbered and out-armed, he knew these men would kill them so much as look at them. In fact, the only thing keeping them alive right now was Astley's hope that they'd fetch a price. Better to wait and see about making an escape later, and although his hands were itching to break a few necks, he wouldn't dare risk Emma's safety.

One of the pirates stepped forward to remove the dagger at Killian's belt and check for any other weapons, taking the small knife he always kept in his boot as well. Another pirate picked up their packs and they were all marching forward, minus the injured men, following the pirate who had Emma at sword-point, Killian carefully paying attention to landmarks for information on the lair's location.

They walked toward a cluster of bushes and boulders, shouldering through the foliage to emerge directly in front of a cleft in the rock face. It was a clever trick of the landscape—from the wandering eye it looked like no more than a solid boulder with scattered brush at its base. Emma's captor pressed her head down harshly, forcing her to enter through the low opening.

The rest of the group followed, and Killian was roughly shoved forward by the pirate carrying his packs. He nearly cracked his skull on the overhanging rock, and turned around to bark at the man, but held his tongue when the pirate pointed a dagger at his throat and bared his blackened teeth in a challenging half-grin. _Emma… Emma… You have to hold it together for her_.

They were led down a dark corridor, lit only by the occasional torch sitting in sconces along the cave wall. He could see different pathways leading off here and there, finally taking one that angled off to the right. They passed a chamber with a few tables, mugs strewn around and several decks of cards sloppily stacked. A few of the pirates in their entourage broke off the main body and entered that room. Killian continued following Emma's captor, eyes never leaving the broad-shouldered man, watching for any opportunity to gain an advantage.

None came. They arrived at a large iron door containing a barred window in it, small and square. The man in front of him passed around Emma, took out a large key and unlocked the heavy door, stepping back as Emma was pushed onto the floor, landing heavily. Another man forcefully removed Killian's jacket and then shoved him in after her. They slammed the door shut, the heavy bolt sliding into place with a resounding boom, plunging the chamber into nearly total darkness, except for a tiny patch of yellow streaming from the bars in the door. Getting his bearings, Killian wrinkled his nose briefly at the fetid odors of mold and filth; somewhere in the distance water steadily dripped.

Feeling his way toward her, Killian asked, "Swan, are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so, just bruised." She was breathing heavily and he wondered if she was telling the whole truth.

He placed a hand on what he thought might be her shoulder.

"Hey, watch it, buddy. Let's not get grabby in the dark." Apparently that wasn't a shoulder, and he pulled his hand back.

"Sorry, Swan, merely attempting to offer some comfort." He couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice and he wondered what part of her body his hand had settled on, still feeling her softness tingling through his fingers, taking solace in knowing that if she was snapping at him, she was likely unhurt. "They took my weapons. Did they get your dagger? or the stone?" he asked, to assess their situation.

"The dagger, yes. The stone, no. I was able to move that to a more… er… um… secure location before we left the campsite." She sighed laboriously, and he saw the outline of her body shift slightly in her sitting position.

"Indeed!" He chuckled, grateful for the distraction from his worry about how they were going to get away. "I'd love nothing so much as to hear more about _that_, lass."

"I'm sure. So what now?" She sounded resigned and tired, and he wanted nothing more than to pick her up and whisk her away from the danger they were in. Her trust in him made him feel noble and desirous of remaining worthy of her confidence, but he once again felt the responsibility of that trust sitting heavily on his shoulders. _Is this how it feels to have a wife to protect?_ The question came to his mind unbidden, and he hadn't the time to give it the attention it deserved, regrettably, but he had every intention of entertaining those thoughts, as soon as the danger had passed.

"I suppose we wait 'til morning and see if we can learn of their plans. Perhaps make a run for it when they transport us. Might as well try for some sleep until then."

"Could you honestly sleep?"

"With you, love? I could only be so lucky." He saw her head turn toward him, and could feel her dispassionate gaze skittering across his skin. Sighing, he kicked at the wall, trying not to sound hopeless. "Perhaps not, but it would do no harm to rest. We have no weapons, no way out of this dungeon, no way to run far enough away, or fast enough with the whole place surrounded. So unless you have magic up your sleeve, we're stuck here for the time being."

He felt her startle more than saw it, and turned back toward her, the outline of her mouth tightening just a hair, barely noticeable in the almost non-existent light.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked.

"I might."

.

.

Emma felt him move toward her, kneeling on one leg, the heat from his proximity coming off him in waves in contrast to the freezing cell. She wondered how he would react to what she was about to tell him. "Listen, I didn't want to bring this up, but I think now may be as good a time as any. Can you see me?"

"Somewhat. Not clearly though." He inched closer, and she could feel his penetrating gaze go straight through her.

The pupils of their eyes slowly shrank as a small light brightened in the center of her palm, a round red glow that lit the area around them exactly like that of the small torch hanging on the wall outside the chamber, as though her hand contained a piece of well-oiled cloth wrapped around a fragment of wood. The light reflected off the stone walls, undulating in patterns that would have been cozy if they'd been at a campsite rather than in a prison, and revealed a large chamber with at least a twenty foot ceiling, the back half still shrouded in darkness.

"Swan… You have magic?" His eyes widened in disbelief and he fell back with a thump, his legs pushing out in front of him. "You _are_ full of surprises, milady." He smirked at her, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm still in training, though, and I'm not very good. But I was thinking maybe we could use it to get out of here." She stared into the palm of her hand, the ball of light glowing happily without emitting any heat.

He furrowed his brow in question. "Why in the name of all gods did you not use it before we were captured?"

She tried to keep the frustration out of her tone, but failed. "What about 'I'm not very good' did you not understand? I'm not sure I could take on all those men at once, and the last thing I want them to know is that I have magic. They'd just kill me quick and ask questions later."

As if they had heard her, their boisterous sounds increased, the pirates shouting, singing and laughing loudly, and Emma was reminded of her night spent above the tavern when she'd first arrived in the Enchanted Forest.

"Fair point," he conceded, and she was reminded of his comment on the beanstalk, the pleasant memory filling her warmth. "So what can you do, lass?"

"So far I can mostly manipulate the elements. And the rest just sort of comes and goes." She shrugged a little, almost embarrassed under his warm gaze.

He rested his forearms on his knees and tapped his fingers together. "We need a plan. Do you think you could take on two or three of them at a time?"

"Probably, but no more than that."

"Do you think you can unlock the door?"

"I can only try. But would it be a good idea to do that now? How would we ever get past so many pirates?"

"Then let's wait a bit. My guess is that the fellows are enjoying a night of merrymaking, and will be well past prime in a few hours..."

He trailed off and turned his head. She followed his gaze and was surprised to see a couple of children, a boy and a girl, slowly inching their way toward the light, fascinated by the golden glow.

Although unhampered by their shapeless clothing, they moved slowly, tentatively, shrinking into themselves like flowers collapsing after they've finished blooming, the way children move who've been abused or have reason to be afraid. Emma knew that cowering hunch very well, having experienced it herself throughout her own difficult childhood. She knew the best course of action was to slowly gain their trust, let them know they were safe.

Killian placed a hand on Emma's arm, indicating with that simple touch his pledge to protect all three of them to the best of his ability.

"Hello there, lad, lass." He removed his hand and sat back unobtrusively. "I'm Killian and this is Emma… How long have you been here?" he asked with an unassuming yet interested air.

The two children gaped at them, eyes haunted and unsure, but had lost some of the fear present in their movements.

Jones kept his voice slow and steady. "We're prisoners… like you." He gave a relaxed smile, his face mild and attentive. Watching him, she was suddenly struck with the knowledge that she would have trusted him if she had met him at their age. Children knew instinctively when adults meant to harm them, but there was nothing remotely threatening about Jones, never mind that he was a pirate.

The boy moved his mouth as though to speak, but it was several moments before Emma could make out the words that were no louder than rough whispers. "I… I don'… know. I think… several days… los' track…" The boy trailed off and looked down at the girl.

"Are you brother and sister?" Emma asked.

The boy nodded.

"How old are you?" Emma smiled gently at them, hoping they could hear the sincerity in her tone.

The boy poked a grubby finger at himself and then at his sister. "I'm ten and she's seven."

Killian nodded and asked, "Would you like to come closer to the light?"

The children glanced at each other; the corner of the boy's mouth twitched with eagerness that he tried but failed to hide, his eyes lighting up with the prospect. His sister was much less guarded, smiling tentatively.

"How long can you keep that up, lass?" Jones asked Emma, as the children moved forward with carefully contained reserve.

"Not terribly long, but maybe long enough to get some answers about the pirates' patterns." She gave him a knowing look, and Killian nodded once in understanding. The children entered the circle of light, edging closer to it, as though to get warm, but keeping very close to each other, holding hands, still not quite trusting the two adults.

"When we find a way out of here, we're taking you with us. Don't worry. We'll get you back home." Killian spoke with conviction, but they didn't acknowledge his words, just kept staring fixatedly at the glowing orb, the shadows of their sunken eyes hiding a deeply embedded fear that had been replaced with a measure of relief.

"Where are you from?" Emma asked.

The boy spoke again. "Um, a couple of days' walk from here. We were in town selling eggs and Mam's jams when we were taken."

"I didn't think there were any nearby towns." Killian said, stroking his chin, his beard rasping under his hand.

The boy shook his head. "Our town is about four days walk northeast from here. We live in between here and there."

"Well, it just so happens we're traveling in that direction as well. We'll drop you on our way as soon as we get out of here." The way he said it made Emma wonder if they were in fact traveling Northeast, but she didn't question him.

The boy smiled for the first time since joining them. "We'd be much obliged, sir."

"What are your names?" Emma asked.

"I'm John, and this is Kenna." He spoke matter of factly, as though he had made a decision to trust them and was going to follow it through.

"Nice to meet you both." Emma smiled widely. "Now, if we're going to get out of here, we need to know how often the… guards… come in here." She didn't know if the children knew they had been abducted by pirates, and didn't want them to be unnecessarily afraid.

"It's not more than once a day." The boy pointed to the black ceiling. "There's a crack in the rock up there, let's in a bit of light during the day. The guard comes when the light is at its strongest."

"Hmm. Can you tell if that's a quiet time of day? Are there any other sounds in the surrounding chambers and corridors?"

"Not like now. It's generally very quiet once the sun comes up."

Emma thought for a minute. The pirates must be on a nocturnal schedule if they were up all night and quiet during the day. But planning an escape in the middle of daylight was risky. It'd be better to escape at night, when they had a better chance of using the cover of darkness to get away, especially with two small children traveling with them.

"Listen, I have to put this away, too much time drains my energy, and I want to save it for our escape. We should try to get some rest." She smiled again, softening her features, her protective maternal instinct kicking into high gear. She remembered both times she'd been separated from Henry, and could only imagine the pain their parents must be going through.

The coldness from the stone began seeping through her leather-clad bottom and she shivered. Killian laid a brief hand on her, acknowledging her chill, but with nothing to do about it, he leaned up against the wall, stretching his legs out and opening his arm. The little girl hurried forward, snuggling in close to him, his arm wrapping protectively over her. What Emma wouldn't give to be seven again.

The boy looked at the little girl with narrowed eyes, but as soon as he saw her relax into Jones's warmth, he moved to sit next to his sister, carefully leaning his head down on Jones's arm.

Emma settled herself gingerly on the boy's other side before letting the globe wink out.

Within moments, the sounds of the children's quiet snores echoed through the cold chamber. Emma shivered a little, tucking herself closer to the boy, hoping to create some body heat between the two of them, the bones of his frail body sticking into her side.

"Got any good stories to pass the time, Swan?" Jones's whispering voice rose out of the blackness, almost disembodied.

"I was just thinking about Henry. He was ten years old when I met him."

"Come again?"

"He was ten. I gave him up for adoption… to someone else to care for him… after he was born." She answered his unspoken question. "I was young and in jail, I had no way to support a child."

"And the child's father? Isn't it his job to care for his family?" His voice had hardened.

"His father was the reason I was in jail," she said with as little emotion as possible.

He was quiet for a minute, considering. "Very bad form indeed," he whispered under his breath. Then a little louder, "And you found him when he was ten? Why didn't you look for him before that?"

"Actually, he found me. It was a closed adoption. Legally I couldn't look, and with a felony charge on my record, I couldn't risk being sent to jail again."

"Felony charge. Like a price on your head?

"Something like that," she smiled into the gloom, remembering what it was like when she'd first met Hook and he didn't get any of her modern references.

After a couple of minutes, he asked, "What's your boy like?"

She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to generate as much friction as she could to warm herself. "Observant and quick-witted, funny and sarcastic. You'd like him."

A smile was in his voice with his reply. "Prehaps so... How old is he now?"

"He just turned sixteen," she said, chuckling lightly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was just remembering his birthday party. He insisted on a giant bash and invited the whole town. It turned into a block party barbecue, and everyone stayed up all night celebrating, shooting off fireworks. Everyone had a great time."

"I can guess what a block party is, but fireworks?"

"Um… like small flames of fire shooting into the sky before exploding into lots of different colors."

"I thought your world didn't have magic."

"It's not magic. It's a mixture of chemicals that spark when lit with a flame."

She smiled again at the memory. That was the first time Killian had seen fireworks and he'd been convinced they were magic. He had been holding her, stroking her belly, whispering about magic and what if, what if they made magic together? Her brows had shot up in question and he had turned her slightly so she could look up at him, love darkening his beautiful blue eyes, tiny flames dancing in his pupils in time with the booming explosions. He was so corny but by God, she loved him with all her heart, and to know he wanted a baby too? She'd pulled his face down to hers and kissed him senseless with her yes.

A tear slipped down her face, landing over her lips, the saltiness of it bringing her out of her memory before his words did.

"Henry sounds quite entertaining… Must take after his mother." He didn't bother to hide the admiration in his voice, and Emma choked back the tears that threatened to unleash, knowing this wasn't the time or the place.

"Like me? No. Henry has a way of bringing people together. He knows things, things a kid shouldn't know. And he often grasps my feelings before I do," she said, swallowing thickly and struggling to keep her voice level.

"Perceptive lad."

"Yeah, you don't know the half of it," she said with a sarcastic edge to her voice.

"Why don't you enlighten me, Swan?" His tone was completely sincere, but with a catch of something that made her narrow her eyes, even though he couldn't see her.

She chuffed, reading him as well as he often read her. "Oh no, I'm not falling for that. With your silver tongue, you'll have me admitting to all kinds of future events, and _that_ could definitely have consequences."

She heard his light chuckle. "You're too quick by half, lass."

"Would you really try to trick me into revealing your future?" she asked, surprised that he'd admitted to her calling him out.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it trickery…" She saw his free hand rise to rub at the back of his neck. "Just think of it from my perspective, Swan. You have the power to steer me away from danger, regret, or walk me right into it. So this situation begs the question… how well do you know me?"

She could see his point and would concede that much, but she couldn't give him so much information that he used it to change his actions.

"Let's just say I know you very well… But I have a question for you…" He didn't say anything, waiting patiently, and she became aware of her heart pumping thickly in her ears. "Do you trust me?"

A bawdy song echoed through the thick door, a backdrop for the steady plip-plop of the water dripping somewhere in the chamber, and it was a long minute before he replied, "I like to think of myself as a good judge of character, yours included. So yes, I trust you, Swan… implicitly. And I'd bet my life on you. Indeed, I believe I've been doing that very thing since we began this little adventure." He sounded satisfied with his answer.

She inhaled slowly, allowing her lungs to completely fill with air before releasing it. _Okay, this is the hard part_. Drawing in the edges of herself tight and close, pinching off the threatening emotions, and swallowing around the lump that was trying to cut off her air supply, she said evenly, "Then trust me when I tell you that it's Milah you need to pursue. Milah is the one. And I know this isn't going to make any sense, but when the Dark One comes for the bean, give it to him, don't fight." Emma might not be able to save his heart, but maybe she could save his hand.

"Again with Milah. I thought we covered this." He sounded disappointed with her, which was worse than anger any day. With Killian, anger flared hot and quick, but he held onto disappointment, the shadow of it hurting him and in turn causing her heart to ache for him.

She shivered from the chill in the room, or maybe from the broken discouragement in his voice. She felt very cold, and very alone, and a part of her wanted to scream in protest that it wasn't fair she should have to keep doing this, that she should have to tell her true love to find another.

Hot tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill. "But you've only just met," she countered, "You two are destined to have a love that will surpass centuries." There, she'd done it, and she should feel relieved, but her heart was fracturing into a million pieces and she didn't have the energy to locate each one and begin the laborious process of putting it back together.

He didn't say another word that night, and if she wouldn't have been so cold, and if she'd been alone, she would have gone to the darkest corner of the chamber and wailed herself to sleep, hoping she'd feel whole again in the morning. As it was, she could only sit in the near darkness and fight the raging battle to contain her grief and keep quiet so he wouldn't know her own internal combat. All she could do was to allow her tears to fall silently, unchecked.

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**Review?**


	12. Escape

_Hi Everyone, welcome back! Thanks for all the wonderful comments. I love how involved some of you are becoming; I hope I don't disappoint! And thanks to the clever lethemorai for beta-reading!~DD_

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Chapter 12: Escape

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He had awoken with the sun all his life, and today was no different. Killian felt the familiar pull of the dawn, lugging him toward the world of consciousness, ready to deposit him without a backward glance. In his younger days he had sometimes fought it, but he had long since reached that place where he knew there was nothing to be gained by it except disappointment—he'd never once been able to fall back to sleep, no matter what the night's activities had held. This morning was no exception; he was exhausted, having spent most of the remaining night listening to the children's steady breathing, and Emma's rustlings. She had cried herself to sleep the night before, quietly shaking with sobs he couldn't explain, except to hope that perhaps her affection for him had grown more deeply than she'd anticipated. He couldn't have slept more than an hour or two.

He became aware of a warm weight in his lap, and without moving his head, he opened his eyes to find that Kenna—probably seeking warmth—had crawled onto his outstretched legs, her tiny body shaped like a cooked shrimp, her head resting against her hand placed on his stomach. He had dropped one hand protectively over her curled back, and the other around the boy, who had shifted closer to lean into his side, replacing his sister. Both children were relaxed with the kind of sleep that comes after pure exhaustion, and he realized that it was likely a result of feeling safer than they had since they were captured. Emma was leaning against Killian's arm, and his head rested against her own. To the casual observer, they must look like they had all collapsed into one another in the depths of the night.

He inhaled deeply, smiling when his nose twitched from the tickle of Emma's hair, just taking her in, memorizing her scent, allowing himself a luxury he was sure was just that, a luxury. She was so confident she knew what was best for his life, and he knew she meant well, but he'd long been out of the habit of allowing anyone else to decide his fate. That day had died with Liam, the day he had declared himself a free agent in every sense of the word.

He tilted his eyes downward. Her arms were tucked between her body and the boy's, as though she were looking for warmth from that emaciated body, when in actuality, she had to be lending quite a bit of her own warmth to the boy.

_Do you trust me?_

_Implicitly._

The conversation from the night before echoed in his mind, selfishly stealing away the comfort of her proximity as she pressed into his arm. He hadn't been lying to her. He did trust her, but that didn't negate the fact that she was still hiding something, and he was determined to find out what it was.

_You two are destined to have a love that will surpass centuries._

He could tell by the way she'd spoken that she fully believed every word. But he didn't agree, couldn't agree. Milah was beautiful and sassy and amusing… but love? She was also unusually tortured about her life, unsure of what she desired, torn between love for her son and a need to escape her suffocating husband. He couldn't imagine falling so hard for a woman who didn't know her own mind. Not to mention the fact that Milah brought out the worst in him, the part that had surfaced after Liam's death. That man had been harsh and brash, a drunken sot that cared for no one but himself. He had to admit it could be exciting to give in to his baser inclinations for a time, but he had no desire to remain that way, and Emma brought out the dashing, protective seaman, ready to rescue a damsel in distress—as she'd called herself—and be a hero. She made him want to be better than he was. Sod Milah.

A reedy shaft of light was now piercing through the gloom, and he could tell by the color that it was just past dawn. Emma shifted, wincing as she moved her stiff arms and legs and sat upright, glancing back at his arm with a wry look that tugged on one side of her mouth. The children only sighed and settled deeper into their rest. The rest of the cave was quiet.

"Morning, Swan. How'd you like your feather bed?" he whispered, moving slowly while he sat upright so as not to disturb the children.

She smirked and settled back heavily with a grunt. "Probably as much as you enjoyed yours."

He grinned widely. "Oh I hope so; you were in mine all night."

She shook her head with a snicker and rolled her ankles, the joints cracking loudly in the still chamber. "In your dreams maybe."

He shrugged, grimacing as he slanted his head left and then right, stretching his neck. "Not to worry, lass, I'll take what I can get."

Her stomach grumbled loudly and they both chuckled quietly. "Hungry, Swan?" he teased, "Let me just ring my first mate to bring us breakfast in bed."

"Ooh, that'd be lovely," she yawned, "I'll have pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup and a hot coffee with cream." She spread her hands on her outstretched thighs and lengthened her fingers. "Oof. I'll definitely be lodging a complaint with the manager of the place about the hospitality."

"Sounds productive. Let me know how it turns out, lass." He couldn't move much without dislodging the children, and a niggling restlessness began to tingle through his limbs as his brain registered that it was time to get up and get moving.

"Will do," she said, and then gestured to the children. "They like you, you know."

"Must be my ample charm," he said sarcastically.

She had leaned forward, stretching her back, but turned her head, regarding him. "Hmm… I imagine it's more than that."

He raised one brow and countered, "Is that a compliment I detect? Or are you afraid we're going to die and want to dole out your last words before we go?"

She ignored the comment, her face turning serious. "Who's Alistair Astley?"

He sighed heavily, and Kenna burrowed her tiny body into his stomach like a grub digging into fresh earth; he tightened his arm around her in reflex. "A ruthless pirate... You remember I told you I never deal in slaves? Well, he deals almost exclusively in them. That's where these two are bound, and you too if we don't get out of here. He also secures the cargoes of powerful interests, although I have no idea where he gets his support. He eludes capture by buying off the constables and harbor officials in the various kingdoms."

She frowned, looking down at the two peacefully sleeping children. "What's his beef with you?"

Her references could be so baffling at times and he drew his brows together in consternation. "Beef... You mean issue?"

She nodded and he continued, arching his back ever so slightly and then relaxing against the hard stone. "Met him in a tavern. We both like to play cards, and a mutual mate introduced us. We played for hours, pretty much a stalemate until he doubled down on the last game, betting his mother's wedding ring before calling it a night." Killian held up his little finger, the large ruby the color of coal in the dark chamber. "I won. He tried to claim trickery and the lot, but he couldn't prove I'd done anything untoward, not to mention the fact that he had been cheating too, but that was neither here nor there."

"Then I imagine he'd cut off your finger to get that ring back." Her lip curled in distaste.

"Quite possibly, but perhaps we won't give him the chance." He smiled at her, intending to bolster her confidence. A tentative smile passed over her lips in response, but stretched no further. Her beautiful mossy green eyes were dark gray in the dimness, but looked tired and unsure all the same. "Are you ready to attempt an escape?" he asked.

She shook her head and stood up, walking a few steps away and stretching her limbs more completely before whispering, "Let's make a plan and then wake them up. Something tells me they're going to need the rest."

"As you wish, lass," he replied, stiff and achy and anxious to get going.

====o0I0o====

The four of them stood next to the door of the chamber, a convoy of eager eavesdroppers nervously listening for the sounds of any pirates in the corridor. Hearing nothing, Jones nodded at Emma. It was time.

Emma took a deep breath, smiled at the two children beside her and closed her eyes, clearing her mind exclusively of any thoughts. The cave was completely devoid of human sounds, save the breathing of her three companions, her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. Her awareness began to expand: a small snake scurried near the entrance, a colony of bats chattered as they settled into a high corner of one of the large stone chambers, a few rats scurried amongst crates and barrels looking for crumbs. Honing in on the steadily dripping water that had lulled her to sleep earlier that morning, she allowed the sound to reverberate through her mind as the beat of her heart slowed to match each plop. She widened her legs, her toes gripping the floor through her boots, connecting herself to the elements around her. Instinct.

She felt the rush of magic as it flew from her, and opened her eyes, anxious to see what had been done. Three pairs of eyes turned from her toward the door with piqued interest, waiting. She too stared at the massive door. Nothing. _Damn_.

Killian broke the silence. "Perhaps you can try again?" he asked, eyes kind and expectant. The children looked at each other, unsure.

She rubbed her palms, sweaty with anxiety, against her thighs. "I don't know what went wrong." She walked away from them, racking her brain for what to try next.

The scraping sound of creaking wood brought her back. Jones and the children leaned forward slowly, together, like a television antenna adjusting itself to find the best frequency, all staring at the door with mouths gaping. She stepped closer, watching as the boards began to shrink and splinter, a thick mold growing over them. The mold darkened and gave way as the wood began to pull apart, turning gray and drying out, disintegrating before their eyes.

Jones looked back at her with the expression of a small boy on Christmas morning. "Swan! That was bloody brilliant!" He turned back to the door, just as the remnants of it collapsed to the floor in a quiet hiss, the iron hinges and lock landing heavily and sending up mushroom-shaped plumes of dust, before continuing their own slower degradation.

She didn't have time to register her successful use of magic before Jones was stepping over the pile of rubble and grabbing one of the sharper pieces of broken iron, taking the lead with the two children restlessly following behind; she brought up the rear. He paused at the end of the corridor, looking both ways before turning to the left and motioning for them to follow.

All was silent as they made their way through the cave, almost eerily so, the earth toned colors and intricate patterns of the rock formations rippling in the torchlight, beauty she hadn't noticed on the way in, understandably so. The thickness of the stone floor muted their footsteps along the path, even as the walls resounded lightly with them, the impenetrable fortress of solid rock peaceful, comforting like a blanket on a cold night, and threatened to dull her senses.

She jolted back to reality, stopping abruptly when John misjudged the curve of the wall partially blocking the path and tripped, falling forward into Kenna who in turn bumped into Jones. Jones darted out into the cross corridor just as one of the pirates was about to round the corner. He was young, and startled by their presence. Emma grabbed the two children by the shoulders and shoved them behind her.

"Uh… What are you doing out of th' hold?" he asked stupidly.

"Thought we'd go on an excursion, see what's to be seen." Jones replied enthusiastically. As quick as a wink, he grabbed the boy by the arm and twisted him around to hold him in a head lock, placing the jagged piece of the broken iron hinge up against his throat.

"Now you're going to tell us where to find our belongings, and you're going to do it quietly." He pressed the iron into the boy's neck, drawing a tiny dot of blood.

"I know who you are, and even if you get through me, you won't escape Cap'n Astley," he said through clenched teeth.

"I'm not here for a conversation, boy, I'm here for an answer. Best hurry it up or we'll leave you here in a heap and find out for ourselves." Jones jerked his arm tighter, the boy wincing when the metal scraped across his skin.

"Cap'n took your belongings. His chamber is that way." The boy pointed in the opposite direction of the exit and Emma felt her knees go to water with the thought of staying there any longer than necessary; there was no telling who else they'd run into.

Jones tightened his arm around the boy's throat, causing his face to turn the color of boiled beets as he was deprived of oxygen, his body crumpling to the floor in the heap Jones had promised.

"We'll stay together," Jones announced, looking first at Emma and then the children before leading them all in the direction the boy had indicated.

====o0I0o====

It worked out that they didn't come across Astley's lair quite so easily. The corridor ended in a fork, and Killian led them down the one on the right. It ended in a large chamber, no door, which housed several sleeping pirates arranged on shabby blankets and grimy pillows, haphazardly strewn about. A couple of them stirred and rolled over, but otherwise remained unaware of the small group's presence. Killian looked over at Emma and gestured with his thumb to quietly move back in the direction they'd come. He was rewarded with a sinister smile, her eyes suddenly glowing like bright emeralds. She had a plan.

He pulled the children with him as he stepped back, eyes locked on the beautiful lass before him, her long blond hair undulating like a belly dancer amidst the shadows of the firelight.

The hair on the back of his neck rose as she lifted her hands, and again he could feel the power build until, with a flick of her wrists, it left her in a thick pulse. His hands tightened involuntarily on the children's shoulders as he watched in fascination. At the base of the doorway to the chamber, two small stalagmites began to grow upward, increasing in height and breadth, while two stalactites grew down from the ceiling, silently pushing themselves through the air. Not a single pirate stirred.

As soon as the stone jail cell was complete, Emma twisted around in triumph, pride coursing through her. She threw her arms around Killian's neck, pressing her body against his side, burying her face in the collar of his shirt.

"I did it!" she whispered.

He smiled, removing his hand from Kenna's shoulder and resting it around Emma's back, holding her gently but almost stiffly, knowing she would bolt if he drew too much attention to himself and she became fully aware of what she was doing. He spoke into her hair, closing his eyes and holding his breath, savoring the softness of her flesh against his. "That you did, lass. Well done."

She only hugged him for a moment, but that moment was long enough to warm his stone-chilled skin and leave him with a yearning desire to share all her triumphs and sorrows all the days of his life.

====o0I0o====

They retraced their steps, this time taking the fork to the left, encountering no other wandering pirates. They found the chamber quite easily, leaving John and Kenna in the corridor with instructions to run in if they saw anyone. Killian strode in, Emma following, to see Alistair Astley sitting at a long table deep in thought, holding her dagger and tapping the fingers of his other hand on the table top. He glanced up in surprise when he saw them at the entrance, but quickly hid it behind an amused smile. The table was strewn with the contents of hers and Jones's packs, obviously having been rifled through.

"Ah, Jones, welcome. Please… come in," he said calmly, but with an underlying bewilderment he tried to hide behind pretension. He gestured them closer with a wave of his hand.

"We're leaving, Astley, kindly hand over the dagger and our things and we'll be on our way," Jones said with a certainty that brought a tiny smile to the corner of Emma's lips.

"Always so confident, Jones... Wonderful quality in a pirate." He brought his hand to his face to stroke his chin. "Perhaps we might come to a different arrangement. You work for me and I'll let the children go free."

"Now who's negotiating?" Jones inquired with a raised brow.

Astley laughed, setting down the dagger and placing both hands on the table as if to stand up. "Consider it a bargain, a transaction that could work in both our favors."

"I'm not much in the bargaining mood, Astley," Jones replied. Emma moved forward, taking her place at his side.

"I suggest you listen to him. We've already taken care of the rest of your crew, and you're the only one standing in our way," she said, trying to create the same air of nonchalance that Jones had affected.

Astley tilted his head in her direction as if just noticing she was there. "My crew? Well, that is a wonder," he said almost to himself before continuing in an ominous tone, "No matter. You'll not be going very far." He stood up then, reaching his hand under a stack of papers to reveal a gun, some kind of eighteenth century-looking pistol pointed right at Jones's chest.

Emma jerked, hoping the pirate was too focused on Jones to notice her recognition of the item in his hand. She didn't have time to think about where he might have gotten it, and started preparing herself to use magic, disheartened when it seemed to be building much more slowly this time.

Jones shook his head and spoke as if talking to a child, "You'll need more than a lavish dart thrower to stop us."

Astley's smile widened, but his eyes narrowed at the same time, the way an owl looks just before it's about to grab a juicy mouse.

Emma saw his hand quiver and shouted "No!" reacting instantly, instinctively, just like she'd been taught. She threw her hand up and forward, releasing a spray of magic that transformed into a hissing boa constrictor, flying straight for Astley's head, wrapping its broad body neatly around his face, covering his mouth, nose and throat. The pirate's last gasp of breath echoed loudly in the cavernous room.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma happened to catch the twitch of Astley's finger on the trigger. She jumped on top of Jones, throwing him to the ground at the same time a loud "BOOM!" reverberated off the walls.

Emma's eardrums pulsed with the echo of the report, stunning her into inaction while she waited for her head to quit rebelling against the deafening blast.

"You know, Swan, all you have to do is ask. No need to attack." Killian wound an arm around her back, tracing a long line down her spine, making no attempt to get up, and she knew he would gladly keep her there.

She rolled her eyes and pushed back, swooning slightly as she gained her feet and stood up to assure herself that Astley was truly no longer a threat. He wasn't. His body lay crumpled at the base of his chair, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, the snake nowhere in sight.

John and Kenna must have run in when they heard the noise, and Emma turned to them while Jones stood up as well. "Are you two ok?" They nodded with wide dark-rimmed eyes and anxious faces. "You'll never have to worry about him again," she said, smiling. She opened her arms and they rushed her. She stumbled only a little, and they pressed their small bodies into hers, squeezing her in their thanks.

Jones had walked over to the table and donned his jacket, and began stuffing their packs with the rest of their belongings, shouldering the two burdens but leaving his hands free. When Emma turned to him, he presented her dagger, hilt first, over his arm. "Your dagger, milady," he said, admiration tickling his blue eyes into a crinkled smile.

"Thanks," she said quietly, holding his gaze longer than necessary. And although her heart had just begun to slow from the adrenaline rush, it sped up again, as if trying to jump out of her chest and wrestle Jones back to the floor all by itself. She took the dagger from him and then her pack, bending to strap on her cutlass and hide her flush.

"Shall we?" Jones asked the children, who nodded vigorously in response. He smiled and pushed off into the dark corridor.

The way out was fairly straight-forward, but Emma was finding it hard to concentrate, wondering if maybe she'd overdone the magic. She kept her eyes on the backs of John's and Kenna's feet, willing her own to follow.

They stopped and Emma looked up in surprise to see that Jones had halted several feet shy of the exit. She ambled up behind him, misjudging the distance, and put a hand on his shoulder to keep from stumbling into him. "What is it?"

"Another chamber. The way it's angled, I didn't notice it on the way in. Look."

She looked over his shoulder, following his gaze around the rock wall, the chamber revealing a cache of crates and barrels of cargo standing in the stone room. "M… must be their… horde." She struggled to take a deep breath, her air passages narrowing although she didn't understand why. "M… makes sense that it's close to the entrance." Her words felt like they were forming underwater, and her limbs suddenly felt unbearably heavy.

"Aye." He spoke with no inflection, just simple acknowledgment.

Emma knew what he was thinking, knew he struggled with the desire to pilfer through the cache and steal anything of worth, but her mind could only form the words, "We can't, Jones."

Her legs ceased to hold her up anymore and she slipped to the floor, barely registering Jones as he turned around to answer, his face going from bemused at her implication, then confused when he saw she wasn't standing behind him anymore, to horrified when he saw that she'd collapsed.

"Swan, you're injured!" He crouched down next to her, a fiery pain shooting through her shoulder when he lifted her to assess the extent of the damage.

"Am I?" His face was going out of focus and she felt dreadfully tired all of a sudden. She closed her eyes. So good. Just rest.

"Gods, Emma… We'll just get this…" She caught the torment in his voice and an image of his loving face formed perfectly in her mind's eye. Then all was blackness.

.

.

Killian's heart stopped beating and he gaped at the still form of his love for who knew how long, for everything is measured in the span of a heartbeat, and his had simply ceased. When it had decided to resume its regular pace, time started up again, moving unevenly in spurts and drawls.

He pushed away the horror that threatened to overwhelm him, trying to get to that place of calm detachment that would allow him to deal with her wound rationally. He was close, but not quite there. He carefully propped Emma against his left leg and her head lolled limply to the side. The sight of his Swan, listless and weak, nearly stopped his heart for a second time and he wanted to curse the gods for this turn of bad luck, but he didn't have time for any of that. He opened her vest, pushing it back to reveal her blood-stained shirt with a tiny ragged hole in the shoulder. _Gods, this can't be happening_. He moved her forward a little, bracing her on his right arm, looking for any kind of exit wound. Sure enough, there was a tiny hole in the leather.

"John, help me get this off!" he shouted, supporting Emma's body while the young boy gingerly removed her vest.

Laying her back against his leg, he used his fingers to tear the fabric away from the wound, grateful that she'd passed out and couldn't feel the pain of his jostling.

"John, you and Kenna start looking through the crates and see if you can find any material. Look for any cloth-wrapped packages." The boy nodded, grabbing his sister's hand and running into the chamber.

Killian had never before seen the weapon Astley held, but could easily see the damage it had done. The dart had gone clean through her shoulder, leaving a large exit wound on her upper back. Rivulets of blood trailed into her shirt. A thick coil of fear wrapped itself around his neck as surely as the snake had wrapped Astley's. He needed to stop the bleeding as quickly as possible.

"Sir, we've found some cloth." John said, frightened but intent.

"Good. Tear it into long thin pieces for me and hand them to me one by one." Killian tried to wait patiently, every second lasting minutes, while her lifeblood flowed over his leg. The sound of tearing cloth echoed down the corridor, shredding Killian's nerves as sure as if a knife had been used on the over-stimulated bundles of fibers.

John handed the first length to Kenna who in turn gave it to Killian while John continued tearing strips. It was a beautiful white silk, soft and sumptuous, just like her; Killian wadded it up and pressed it firmly against her back. When Kenna handed him the second piece he began winding it around Emma's shoulder, keeping as much pressure on the wound as he could. The third he wound around her chest and so on, until her upper torso resembled the next unfortunate meal of a very large spider.

Bandaging done, he checked her breathing, sighing in relief at the steadiness of it. He placed his arm around her waist, careful to avoid the wound, and tried to rouse her. "Swan, Swan. Wake up, love." He shook her gently, willing her to open her eyes.

She did. "Killian, wh… what happened?" Perplexed, her brows furrowed as her eyes attempted to focus on his face. He knew she had been successful when her expression softened, green eyes filling with such love that he gasped from the intensity of it. She frowned. "Babe, what's wrong? Tell me."

Killian's heart started beating wildly. _Babe?_ Last he checked friends didn't call each other babe. As much as he would have loved to continue that line of thought, they needed to get out of there in case anymore of Astley's men showed up unexpectedly.

"Your shoulder was hit, love. I've bandaged you up…" She looked down at her shoulder, face pinching as though she only just realized it was bothering her. "… and we need to get out of here. You're bleeding…"

She looked back up at him, confusion giving way to remembrance. She inhaled deeply, pursing her lips in pain. "Right. Just a minute, though, maybe I can stop the bleeding."

"Can you heal yourself, love?" he asked, hopeful.

"Maybe. I'm just so tired." She inhaled again, holding her breath a moment before exhaling it very slowly. A calmness settled over her and he thought he felt the stirrings of her magic. "I can't." She dropped her head back into his arm and closed her eyes, frustrated with herself.

He hated to see her like that. She was such a bloody wonder and she should be proud of all she had accomplished. "Swan, it's alright, I'll help you."

He meant he'd help her get up and walk out of there, but her eyes slanted over to his face as though he had said something profound. "You can, you know. Here, take my hands." She leaned forward slightly, allowing him to come out from behind her as she supported her own weight in her sitting position. She took his hands, their coldness burning into his skin, and he watched her face, pale in the flickering torchlight.

"Clear your mind and just… just… I don't know how to explain it." She was breathing heavily and squinted around the corridor as if she might find the words painted on the walls. "Just _be_ with me. Does that make any sense?" she asked, nearly defeated.

He smiled. "Aye, that it does, lass." He didn't know how he knew what she was asking, but he did just the same. He glanced over at the children, regarding them with something akin to doubt, and then back at Emma, his Emma, who he had come to love more than life itself. He cleared his mind, releasing a slow breath of his own. The air around them began to fill with something prickly like static, different from the magic he'd felt from her before, and his eyes fastened on hers, unwavering, baring his soul from their depths. She smiled in acknowledgment and then she was drawing him in, siphoning his energy… no, his love... out through his fingertips and into her hands. She took it, held it, gentled it, and handed it back, all through the inimitable connection of their locked gazes, emerald green marrying with cerulean, the resulting color that of a blue glass goblet sitting in a sunny windowsill, casting its own azure tint to anything beheld through the glass.

_Pop_. Her magic released and they both jolted backward; the only thing keeping them upright was their grip on each other's hands.

"That's better," she said, releasing him and rolling her shoulder down and around to check the wound.

Killian stared at her in astonishment, still not quite sure what had just happened, but aware nonetheless that it was big and it was life-changing. Pressing his thoughts aside for later contemplation, he stood up, offering her his hand. "Come, love, let's get out of here."

She took his proffered hand and stood up with a wide smile. "Gladly."

* * *

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